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GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


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McGLUSKY’S GREAT 
ADVENTURE 

By A. G. HALES. 

5s. net. 

Mr. Hales’ famous McGlusky is a glorious 
character. How he raised and trained a 
Maori levy, how he tried to enlist in London, • 
and finally joined the Anzacs, is all set forth 
in his great adventure. ‘ McGlusky ’s Scotch 
eloquence, and all the humours and excite- 
ments of his career, pour out over the pages 
with great vivacity and gusto ; and the reader 
really finds, as he approaches the close, that 
the figures of McGlusky dons the likeness 
of some old hero of a northern saga .’ — The 
Times. 




“A’rn no’ quarrelsome, ye ken, . . . but . . . A ’ll 
alter th’ geography o’ his face so’s th’ mither av all 
th’ monkeys wud no’ care ta ca’ him kin.” [page 7. 


GINGER AND 
McGLUSKY 


By 

A. G. HALES 

Author of “McGlusky’s Great Adventure” 


HODDER AND STOUGHTON 

LONDON NEW YORK TORONTO 


1917 


DEDICATION 

Other men must write the history of the great war, 
mine is the task of the novelist only, and this novel I 
dedicate as a simple tribute to the wonderful women 
who have so royally acted as nursing sisters to the Em- 
pire’s matchless men — God bless them. 

A. G. Hales. 


OCT 26 1917 \ * 


©CI.Alnt. 3038 




CHAPTER I 


McGlusky and Ginger Arrive in France 


CHAPTER II 

McGlusky Gets a Rise in Life 


CHAPTER III 

Twixt Earth and Heaven 


CHAPTER IV 

Ginger Turns Malcontent 




CHAPTER VI 


Ginger in the Hands of the Germans 


CHAPTER VII 

McGlusky Disgraces the Anzacs . 






20 


4i 


67 


CHAPTER V 

McGlusky is Banished the Aerial Service . 


84 


108 


139 














v 


VI 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

CHAPTER VIII 

‘ Lord, gie Ma Patience ’ i 55 

CHAPTER IX 

The Dawn of Hope ...... 180 

CHAPTER X 

The Anzacs* Ewe Lamb . . . . . .198 

CHAPTER XI 

‘ Ta Hell wi* the Kaiser ’ . . . . . 218 

CHAPTER XII 

J 

The Advent of Gwennie ..... 242 

CHAPTER XIII 

Ginger as a Forlorn Hope ..... 264 

CHAPTER XIV 

The Wonder of Bapaume . . . . . 298 


CHAPTER I 

McGLUSKY AND GINGER ARRIVE IN FRANCK 

Y E will na.’ 

' Won’t I ? Who’ll stop me ? r 
‘ A dinna say A’ll stop ye, but if ye lift yer han' 
ter yon laddie, ye big owergrown gommerilR All 
pound y’r carcase until ye’re sae saft yer frien’s wull 
be able ter pour ye inta a bottle an’ no’ hae ta cork 
ye doon ta keep ye theer.’ 

The big, Roman-nosed gaunt man in the uniform 
of an Anzac private soldier looked round upon a sea 
of faces, as he very calmly but emphatically stated 
his intentions. There was no sign of anger upon his 
rugged face, and his lounging figure was not tremulous 
with passion. He spoke as one stating a fact which 
he was ready and willing to demonstrate without 
further parley. 

‘ A’m no’ quarrelsome, ye ken,’ he continued, throw- 
ing out one big knotted hand in a wide and compre- 
hensive gesture towards the crowd, ' A'm a poet aiT 
a lover o’ peace an’ concord ; this hell’s broth ye ca' 
war doesna appeal ta me. A was suckled on peace, 
an’ A love it, but gin yon body wi’ th’ face o’ a trans- 
port mule an’ a mind like a mud-heap lays a han’ on 
ma laddie, A’ll alter th’ geography o’ his face so's tiT 
mither av all th’ monkeys wud no’ care ta ca’ him kin/ 

7 


8 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


The crowd of soldiers grinned joyously, but being 
fighters themselves, they knew by instinct this was 
no boaster ; they began to drop remarks that proved 
that the person whose physiognomy had been so 
poetically described was no favourite with them. 
That worthy, truth to tell, was not as beautiful as an 
artist’s dream — unless the artist did his dreaming on 
a demi-john of old Bourbon rum. A big fellow belong- 
ing to the artillery, but loutish in his carriage, in spite 
of all the drill sergeants had done for him ; in civilian 
life he was the sort of person who would spend most 
of his time keeping a corner post from falling down, 
by propping it up with his shoulder, the kind of human 
who discovers sufficient exertion in brushing flies off 
his own face on a summer’s day — not lazy, but born 
tired — the sort of man who leans against the fence with 
a straw in his mouth and gives advice, whilst his wife 
digs the garden and plants the winter vegetables. 
Strong as a dray-horse, but lacking virility. This 
person’s face was ablaze with anger ; his big fists 
were clenched ; from his spurs to the crown of his 
cap, he was the personification of unbridled anger. 
A little way from him stood a slim, boyish soldier, 
with a flaming head of hair that could have given an 
African sunset three or four shades of colour and a 
bad beating ; his belt was on the ground at his feet, 
his tunic unbuttoned ready for stripping, and he was 
expostulating vigorously with two Anzacs who held 
him. 

* Och, Shnowy, let me go ; Oi’m not afraid av th’ 
big baste.’ 

The soldier addressed as Snowy looked about as 
youthful as the red-headed imp he was helping to 


ARRIVE IN FRANCE 9 

hold ; his hair was so fair it was nearly white, and 
his good-looking face had never known the need of a 
barber’s tools. 

‘ You’re too light f’r him, kid, you’re not nine stone, 
and he’s thirteen — and fit.’ 

‘ Oi’ll hit him thirteen times to his wanst, an’ that’ll 
make ut even, Shnowy.’ 

‘ You keep still an’ leave him to th’ Old Timer, 
you limb of evil,’ growled the man who was helping 
Snowy hold the boy back. 

* Och, Flamingo, sew y’r ugly mouth up. Is th’ 
Auld Timer ter be dhry-nursin’ me till Oi die av auld 
age? ’ 

The artilleryman did not like the comments passed 
upon him by the soldiers, and he turned his sullen 
face upon them and shouted : 

‘ The kid called me a ’ 

* Ginger,’ demanded the big man who had stepped 
in as champion for the youth. * Ginger, did ye ca' 
yon mon by a name that reflected on his mither ? ’ 

‘ Och, an’ Oi did, sorr.’ 

‘ Then, wee mannie, ye did na dae richt, an’ A’ll 
apologeese f’r ye ter yon gunner. Mon, eef yer mither 
was no’ married when she brocht sic a thing as yersel' 
inta th’ world, she was punished enough f’r her side- 
steppin’ by th’ sicht o’ sic a face as yer ain wi’oot 
havin’ her shame pitchforked at yersel’, an’ eef she 
was lawfu’ wedded, th’ wee laddie ha’ leed, an’ that’s 
no’ lawfu’, but A’m theenkin’ y’r feyther ’ 

‘ I’m goin’ to lick that kid.’ The hoarse voice of 
the gunner broke in on the apology of the gaunt Anzac. 

* Bide a wee, bide a wee, well hae th’ justice o’t 
first. Ginger, for why did ye say sic a thing to yon 


10 GINGER AND McGLUSKY 

mon ? Noo, wee mannie, tell th’ truth, y’r on y’r 
honour/ 

Thus appealed to, Ginger faced the elderly man 
who had constituted himself both judge and champion. 

1 Sorr, he mis-called the padre — our padre/ 

‘ That didn’a justify ye in miscallin' his mither. 
Ginger, an’ th’ good padre wud be th’ first ta rough 
ride ye f’r doin’ it.’ 

* Och, an’ indade, sorr, Oi wasn’t thinkin’ av his 
mother when Oi said ut. Oi don’t belave he ivver 
had a mother ; they foind thim sort in a dhrain afther 
a political meetin’, he’s a misfit an’ a misscue, an’ a 
dirty-tongued baste. Anyhow, sorr, if yez had heard 
what he said about th’ padre, ye’d have found a worse 
name f’r him thari Oi did, an’ the worse ut was th’ 
betther ut’d fit him.’ 

The gunner here interjected something concerning 
the padre and all holy Romans in general, that would 
bum a book if it was put in print. Ginger’s champion 
went towards him mincingly, on his toes, like a ballet- 
dancer, and Snowy let a smile like a new dawn illu- 
minate his face. 

‘ Och, an’ ut’s my throuble, sorr, let me ate av ut/ 
stormed Ginger, but the Flamingo put a half-nelson 
grip on him and choked him into quietness. 

The gaunt old warrior went close to the gunner. 

* A ha’ no’ a veesitin' card wi’ me, but ma name’s 
McGlusky, an’ p’raps this wull do in place o’ ma card/ 

He brought the back of his right hand across the 
gunner’s mouth and stepped quickly back and threw 
himself easily into a posture of defence. ‘ A’m no* 
a Holy Roman masel’,’ he said in an explanatory 
fashion, ' but A ken mony who air, an’ richt fine men 


ARRIVE IN FRANCE 


il 


in a scrap too ; as f’r th’ padre, he was wi’ us in Galli- 
poli, an’ though he’s no’ a big mon, he’s got mair 
pluck an’ spunk than a forty-acre paddock full o 1 
things like yersel’ — noo come on.’ 

The gunner needed no second invitation. He 
bounded forward, and as he did so a big black object 
hurtled through the air, and plunging into the ground, 
burst with a rending roar, scattering earth and stones 
and bits of trees and shreds of iron in all directions. 
Half a dozen men fell in various attitudes, but the 
elderly man who had called himself McGlusky turned 
a sort of double handspring, and then rolled over 
several times as if he had been fired out of a giant 
catapult, nor did he stop until he brought up with 
some violence against the wheel of a gun carriage. 
The youth ‘ Ginger ’ rushed to him ; kneeling by his 
side, the lad cried in accents filled with anxiety : 

' Och, an’ are yez kilt this toime, sorr ? Sorra’s 
th’ day we ivver came ta France.’ 

Slowly the big veteran lifted his gaunt frame into 
a sitting posture, and began wiping dirt and gravel 
from his eyes and mouth. 

‘ Whisht, Ginger,’ he whispered thickly, * whisht* 
wee laddie, A’m no’ an angel yet.’ 

‘ Glory be,’ chanted the youth, ‘ Oi thought yez, 
was, ye looked loike wan a minnit ago, sorr.’ 

The young, fair-haired soldier who had stepped for- 
ward with a w^ater-bottle in one hand and a flask in the 
other, drifted into the conversation in a casual w T ay, 
by drawling : 

‘ Funny idea you must have of angels, Kid ; the 
Old Timer looked more like something in a circus 
than a he-angel, wdien he hit the gun wheel. Good 


12 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


job the gun carriage was there though, or the Old 
Timer’d be travelling yet.’ 

‘ Bad cess to yez, Shnowy, sew yer face up anMcape 
ut sewn up. Ye’ve no dacint feelin’s at all, at all.’ 

Snowy chuckled and handed both the water and 
the flask to the man on the ground. McGlusky helped 
himself, and when he handed the nearly empty flask 
back to its owner, Snowy remarked in his quaint way, 
after a rapid glance at the wee drop of whisky that 
was left : 

‘ The Old Timer may look like an angel, Ginger, 
but if angels drink like him, I wonder it ever rains.’ 

' A’m better noo,’ interpolated McGlusky ; then, with 
an expression of wonder on his cast-iron face, he added, 

‘ Losh, laddies, it were a waesome punch yon gunner 
gie’d ma. Say, Snowy, where did he swat ma ? A’m 
theenkin’ A’ll ha’ ta be carefu’ th’ next round, or A’ll 
get hurtit before A beat him.’ 

A slow smile twisted the lips of Snowy, the- Anzacs’ 
great sharpshooter, but Ginger exploded on the spot. 

' Divil run away wid th’ gunner, sorr, he didn’t hit 
yez at all.’ Then, with a fine atmosphere of contempt, 

' Th’ gunner cudden’t hit yez off y'r fate loike that, 
sorr, not if yez lent him a sledgehammer ; ut was er 
German shell that did ut, wan av thim Jack Johnsins 
we heard about on th’ way here.’ 

* A’m a bit dizzy in ma upper story yet ; A ha’ na 
clear recollection o’ events ; th’ last A remember th’ 
gunner was cornin’ at ma like a bull at a gate, an’ A 
thocht he must ha’ landed ma a bit clip on th’ chin ; 
A felt shook up a wee bit tie, ye ken. Hoo did a shell 
get here, Snowy ? ’ 

‘ Oh, they drop ’em behind our lines sometimes. 


ARRIVE IN FRANCE 


13 

Old Timer ; they want to blow up our reserve com- 
munications, you know/ 

McGlusky pondered over this information, shaking 
his grizzled head as if he had bees in it. When he had 
collected his ideas, he took up his parable, saying : 

‘ A’m no’ thankfu’ ta half-witted Wullie o’ Berlin 
Fr interferin’ wi’ th’ sportin’ arrangements o’ gentle- 
men. A ha’ a sma’ matter tae settle wi’ a mon, if 
A’m no mistaken. Ginger ’ 

‘ Yes, sorr.’ 

‘ Where’s th’ gunner ? ’ 

‘ Och, sorr, nivver moind th’ gunner, he’s adjacent, 
but he’s busy, sorr.’ 

‘ An’ what’s keepin’ th’ buckie beesy, wee laddie ? * 

' Th’ padre’s kapin’ him busy, sorr, or he’s kapin’ 
th’ padre busy ; th’ Howly Father’s washin’ about 
half Alsace Lorraine wid bits av threes in ut out av 
th’ gunner’s eyes.’ 

' A’m hopin’ he’s no’ blin’, Ginger.’ 

‘ He’s not blind, Old Timer, but he’s got a bit to 
go on with, so have half a dozen others ; you only 
missed gettin’ it by th’ skin o’ your teeth.’ 

The rugged Scot Australian dusted his face with 
his Anzac hat, and pondered over his deliverance. 

‘ Laddies, A’m theenkin’ th’ Lord is savin’ ma f’r 
a purpose. He wull na cut ma off like a flower. A 
dinna ken wha’ work he has in store f’r ma, but A’ll 
dae it wi’ all ma micht ; maybe He’ll be wantin’ ta 
mak’ a general oot o’ ma ta swat th’ ungodly Pheelis- 
tines who air treadin’ th’ little nations unner foot ; 
weel, weel, A’m no prood, A’ll no’ seek th’ deesteenc- 
tion, but A’ll no’ refuse it if its offered ma.’ 

Snowy’s eyes were dancing ; he had not fought all 


14 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


through the Gallipoli campaign with this raw giant 
without learning some of his idiosyncrasies. 

* Did they give you the V.C. while you were in Eng- 
land for blowing up the ammunition depots at 
Gallipoli, you two ? ’ was Snowy's query after he 
had helped the veteran to his feet. 

* They didn'a ; they said they cud na, because we 
were neither o' us sojers, an' only sojers cud win 
honours, but they gie’d us leave ta join oop in a regular 
way, an’ noo we’re here.’ 

‘ Kind of ’em,’ drawled Snowy. 

' Na sae bad, conseederin’ ; ye ken we’d been 
fechtin’ in Gallipoli wi’oot leave.’ 

‘ Disgraceful conduct, Old Timer ; men have had 
— had poetry written about ’em for less than that.’ 

Mac missed the sarcasm in the slow voice ; he was 
too busy hunting in his clothes for a paper. He found 
it, and Ginger winced. 

‘ Y’r gey wise sometimes, Snowy, though ye ha’ a 
great gift o’ makin’ a fule o’ yersel’ noo an then ; ye 
spoke true this time aboot th’ poetry. A ha’ made 
a wee bit masel’ on Ginger. A’ll read a bittie o’t.’ 

‘ Och> an’ yez will not, sorr. What have Oi ivver 
done ter yerself, sorr, that yez should illusthrate me 
wid poethry. Ye can take yer belt ta me, if yez loike, 
but th’ dam poethry’s not fair, is ut, Snowy ? Poe- 
thry’s not f’r men, uts f’r— f’r faymales, an’ ondacent 
fay males at that — lasteways none av th’ dacint wans 
’ll sthand th’ poethry yez make, sorr. Three boardin’ 
houses we sthayed at in London, Snowy, an’ in aich 
av thim th’ landlady gave us th’ key av th’ street, 
thro wed us out neck an’ crop, bag an’ baggage, bekase 
he wrote what he called a lyric on thim. Oi don’t 


ARRIVE IN FRANCE 


15 


know what a lyric is, but thim landladies said he tuk 
more liberties wid their anatomy than a masseur at 
a Turkish bath takes wid th’ anatomy av a fat proize 
foighter rejucin’ weight/ 

‘ Th’ women mistuk ma meanin’, Snowy. A rever- 
ence a’ women, they're little bits o' heavin/ 

* Yez didn’t say that about th’ last wan, sorr, th’ 
wan that jabbed yez from behind wid th’ toastin’ 
fork.’ 

‘ Maybe A did na, Ginger — whiles she was beesy 
wi’ th’ toastin’ fork an me on ma knees seekin’ refuge 
unner th’ dinin’ room table. Ye ken A’m no’ feared 
o’ th’ steel in a fecht, Snowy, but A’m no’ likin’ it 
when a woman ha’ been toastin' muffins f’ r breakfast 
an’ serves it up hot fra behin’. When a woman’s 
gey angry,’ he added pathetically, ‘ she’s onparticular 
where she jabs a mon.’ 

‘ You two seem to have been having the time of 
your lives in London, thrown out of three boarding 
houses in a month.’ 

‘ In a week,’ chirruped Ginger. ‘ The Auld Timer 
didn’t start mashin’ landladies until th’ last sivin days.’ 

‘ Hope you didn’t destroy the poetry you made 
for the ladies, I’d — I’d love to read ’em out to the boys 
in th’ trenches,’ murmured Snowy with dangerous 
sweetness. 

‘ Th’ women destroyed ’em,’ replied Mac sadly. 

‘ They must ha’ been hot stuff, Old Timer.’ 

‘ They were true ta nature, Snowy : th’ last one was 
composed on a fine gran' woman, but she had bow- 
legs. Ye ken the fule fashion all th' women ha’ o’ 
wearin’ short frocks th’ noo ; eef they dinna want a 
mon ta ken they’re as bandy as a Greek boatman, f’r 


i6 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


why dae they wear frocks na longer than kilts, th’ 
bow-legged yins, an’ th’ spindle-shanked yins, an’ th’ 
knock-kneed yins too ? A poet ha’ tae be true ta 
nature ye ken that fine ; if he is no’, he’s no true ta 

art. A put wha’ A saw in ma lyrics, an’ ’ 

‘ Och, ter blazes wid his lyrics/ chortled Ginger, 
who seemed to have a decided grudge against the 
poetic muse. ‘ The first lan’lady he wrote his ondacent 
stuff to was a foine woman : she brung me me breakfast 
in bed, tay an’ toast an’ ham an’ eggs, fit fer a juke, 
an’ at dinner she heaped me plate twice, an’ there 
was alwis plenty av raisins in th’ puddins. She fed 
us loike fightin’ cocks, an’ on Sunday she dhressed in 
wan av thim frocks which is all th’ fashion, ut was 
most short enough ter call it an apron an’ not a frock, 
but Oi didn’t moind, th’ faymale cud cook grub loike 
a seraphim, an’ she only put on her war duds ter plaze 
th’ Auld Timer, Shnowy, f’r she was as swate on him 
as a hen turkey is on a gobbler in the love say son. 
Whin th’ Auld Timer sees her in that frock, he sez : 
“ Losh, luk at th’ legs av her, wee laddie, yez cud 
drive a gun carriage through ’em an’ not touch ayther 
soide, she’s as bow-legged as a camel-ridin’ Bedouin.” 
She heard part av what he said, an’ her face wint as 
red as a divil that’s been half baked an’ half boiled. 
“ Was he referrin’ to me, son ? ” she sez whin she got 
me alone. “ He was not, mam,” sez Oi, perjurin’ me 
pore soul f’r his sake, an’ — an’ f’r th’ sake av th’ ham 
an’ eggs f’r breakfast. “ He was talkin’ about a 
Turkish princess we tuk prisoner at Gallipoli,” an’ Oi 
sent th’ woman away happy, an’ thin he wrote her a 
lyric, an’ put th’ same things in ut, only worse, an’ we 
lost our happy home.’ 




ARRIVE IN FRANCE 


i? 


‘ Oh, haud yer gab, Ginger, A’m fashed wi’ y’r 
bletherin’ ; th’ only soul ye’ve got lives in yer stum- 
mick. Noo, Snowy, show me where th’ Anzacs are 
campin’, A’.ve got ter report masel’ f’r duty.’ 

M So the trio marched through the greatest camp 
Britain had ever created, and McGlusky’s fierce eyes 
sparkled as he noted the mighty array. 

‘ This luks like real war, laddies ; our army at 
Gallipoli was only a corpril’s guard compared ta this. 
Losh, it beats th’ Assyrians av old.’ 

‘ Who was thim, sorr ? ’ 

‘ A dinna richtly ken who they weere, wee laddie, but 
they were heathen o’ some kind, ’nd had an army that 
covered th’ groon’ like grasshoppers ; they were goin’ 
ter skelp th’ army o’ th’ Lord, but He blew ’em all 
oot wi’ his breath in yin night.’ 

* Do yez belave ut, sorr ? ’ 

* A do, wee mannie.’ 

* Thin, sorr, why don’t the Lord blow out th’ Ger- 
mans ? ’ 

McGlusky halted in his stride. 

* Laddie, a fule can ask mair questions in a minnit 
than Solomon cud answer in a month. Dinna ye go 
speirin’ inta th’ ways o’ th’ Lord ; ask ma anything 
wi’in reason, an’ A’ll do ma best ter satisfy y’r cravin’ 
f’r knowledge — but by ma soul y’r so thirsty f’r infor- 
mation, ye’d pump a bench o’ bishops dry in a week. 
Noo, quick march, use y’r een an’ shut y’r capacious 
mouth. Yon’s a gran’ sicht — a gran’ sicht, millions 
on millions o’ men an' a’ fechters — every mither’s son 
o’ them. They’ll skelp th’ mad Kaiser.’ 

But Ginger would not be put off in this way. Twenty 
strides farther on he opened fire on the veteran again. 


i8 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


* Sorr, is th’ Kaiser sure mad ? ’ 

< A’m theenkin’ he maun be, else/ with a great wave 
of his hand, * why wud th’ daft buckie try ta fight 
these yins, the pick o’ th’ earth an’ th’ salt thereof ? ’ 

‘ Thin tell me, sorr, fer why did th' Lord let a mad 
baste get on a throne an’ make war on th’ worruld ? ’ 

* A’m no’ sure, mannie, but A’m theenkin’ th’ Lord 
wanted ta purge th’ world o’ th’ Germans, they’re a 
race o’ ravishers an’ bullies, ye ken.’ 

‘ Och, sorr, thin why didn’t th’ Lord blow ’em all 
out in a night, loike he did thim Assyrians, an’ not 
fill th’ world wid th’ weepin’ an’ wailin’ av Frinch an’ 
British widdies an’ orphins ? ’ 

* Ye onreeleegious slip o’ Satan, wud ye question 
th’ ways o’ Providence ? Here’s th’ only answer ye’ll 
unnerstan’.’ 

As he spoke, McGlusky launched a kick in the direc- 
tion of the Irish boy, but Ginger, who knew by past 
experience the form the Scot’s theology was apt to 
take, sprang nimbly out of range. 

‘ Talk tae him. Snowy, for a wee bittie,’ growled 
Mac, ‘ he means na harm, ye ken, but the questions th’ 
impie speirs at ma amaist mak’s ma faith in ma relee- 
gion slip its anchor.’ 

' He’s got a deuce of a thirst for information, and 
that’s a fact, Old Timer,’ cooed the wonderful marks- 
man soothingly, and then added, ‘ Don’t let him worry 
you, pardner, I think half his questions are put out of 
sheer contrariness.’ 

* Na, na, dinna dae th’ wee laddie eenjustice, he’s 
got a wunnerfu’ brain, eef he didn’a find oot things, 
he’d — he’d bust.’ 

And Snowy chuckled as he chewed his quid of plug 


19 


ARRIVE IN FRANCE 

tobacco, for Ginger’s hunger for information did not 
always lead him into theological pastures, and Snowy 
had a scarlet recollection of some of the questions the 
wayward Irish boy had put to him in the days when 
they had fought the Turks side by side in the East. 
Ginger, whistling like a bird, kept himself discreetly 
in the rear, and McGlusky noticing it, remarked sotto 
voce : 

* Th’ wee mannie ha’ peecked up a wunnerfu’ assort- 
ment o’ knowledge.’ 

‘ He has,’ assented Snowy, and the grin that illu- 
minated his face would have cracked a cup. 


CHAPTER II 

McGLUSKY GETS A RISE IN LIFE 


S OLDIERS on active service are not demonstrative 
folk as a rule ; most of their emotions are first 
worn razor-edged, and then so badly blunted that 
they keep them well out of sight and hearing, but one 
of their own kind, a real fighter, can usually stir 
them from their normal apathy. But to few men is 
it given to receive such a welcome into camp as the 
old Anzac regipients gave to McGlusky. They caught 
sight of him coming into their lines just as they were 
off duty, and with one spontaneous yell they engulfed 
him. 

‘ Whisht, laddies, whisht, they’ll be hearin’ ye in 
Berlin,’ he cried warningly, as hundreds of sinewy 
hands were thrust out to grip him. 

‘ Here he is, whiskers and all,’ chanted some one, 
and a storm of laughter shook the daredevil crew. 

‘ Aye,’ he said with a tinge of bitterness in his voice, 
“ here A am, whuskers an’ a’, but A’ve got orders 
ta tak’ me whuskers off th’ nicht, an’ A’m goin’ ta 
tak’ ’em off, but A’m theenkin’ it’ll no’ be lucky — 
Samson had na luck, ye ken, after he were shorn.’ 

' Samson gave up his whiskers f ’r a woman. What 
are you giving up yours for, Mac ? ’ 

The voice that put the query was bubbling with 
merriment, the dour man took it seriously. 

20 


McGLUSKY GETS A RISE IN LIFE 


21 


‘ A’m gi’en up mine f'r duty ; th’ General at Aider- 
shot said A’d ha’ ta shave or stay oot o’ th’ airmy, 
an’ A axed him if A micht wear ’em until A joined up 
again wi’ ma regiment. A was afeared, ma buckies, 
ye wad na ken ma eef A came amang ye wi’ ma lugs 
bare.’ 

‘ Wonder the General trusted you out of England 
with your hair on.’ 

‘ A had served ane campaign o’ three years’ length 
wi’ him, an’ he kenned ma, he knew A’d tak’ ma 
whuskers off th’ nicht A joined ma regiment, if A 
had ta bite ’em off inside. A’m no’ a leear, an’ eef 
any mon amang ye is insinuatin’ A am, A’ll be obleeged 
eef he wull step oot here th’ noo an’ eef A dinna twist 
his innards like a wire entanglement, ye may marry 
ma ta a mummy an’ ca’ me Pharaoh.' 

Ginger’s welcome by his old comrades of the fate- 
ful Eastern campaign was as warm as that given the 
veteran, and it was not long before he was being 
introduced in rough soldier fashion to the men of the 
new Australian and New Zealand contingents which 
were brigaded with the veterans of Anzac fame. 

' A nice quiet kid, but not much devil about him,’ 
was the general verdict of the new acquaintances, 
whereat Snowy and the old brigade grinned hugely, 
but all Snowy said was : 

“ They don’t know Ginger — yet.' 

That night McGlusky shaved his long beard and 
moustaches ; he made almost a religious rite of it, 
but the face that emerged from the tangled forest 
of hair fairly delighted Ginger. 

‘ Och, sorr,’ he cried, ‘ an’ if Oi’d only knowed 
you was hidin' away a face loike that in them old 


22 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


whiskers, Oi’d ha’ burnt ’em off in y’r shleep. Yez 
look young enough ter be ma big brother. Och, Oi’ll 
marry yez to a countess wid a pot o’ money, whin we 
get back ter Blighty.’ 

‘ Ma face feels like a ham ta ma, wee laddie.’ 

‘ Faith, divil a bit do ut look like a ham, sorr, uts 
an iligant face, hard as railroad iron, an’ th’ mouth 
o’ yez will frighten any Fritz who sees yez, sorr. 
Uts — uts loike the doorway ter hell wid th’ hinges 
off ut, uts betther’n a wolf thrap ; all yez want is 
three new front teeth to make up f’r thim wans th’ 
Turk shot out av yer head th’ day yez was clamberin’ 
up the heights av Gallipoli in th’ first big fight. We’ll 
buy some, sorr, th’ first toime .we get lave an’ go ter 
Paris.’ 

‘ A’m theenkin’ that wud be a sinfu’ waste o’ good 
siller, Ginger, A’ll be scrappin’ wi’ Germans th’ morn, 
please God, an’ A’m told most German bodies ha’ 
gude teeth ; A’ll keep ma eyes open when A’m scrap- 
pin’, an’ th’ first German A see wi’ fine front teeth, 
A’ll drop ma rifle an’ just gie him a clump wi’ ma 
fist ; eef A dinna bring his teeth oot, they’ll ha' ta 
be screwed in. A’m theenkin’ that’s no’ unlawfu’, 
th’ Turk took mine, an’ the Turks an’ Huns air allies ; 
between ’em they owe ma twa teeth fra th’ top an’ 
yin fra th’ bottom o’ ma mouth, an’ laddie, A’m 
no’ a lover o’ them that dinna pay wha’ they 
owe.’ 

‘ Bedad, yez’ll get th’ teeth if yez say so, Oi know 
that, but, sorr, how will yez fix ’em in y’r mouth ? ’ 

The big man looked into the eager boyish face 
with an expression of mild surprise. 

‘Hoots, wee mannie, did ye no’ ken A was a bush 


McGLUSKY GETS A RISE IN LIFE 


23 


blacksmith ance in Australia ? A niver fitted teeth 
inta a body yet, but A ha’ fitted a tyre ta a waggon 
wheel, an’ A ha' pulled monay a mon’s watch ta 
pieces an’ put it thegether agin. A’d tak’ shame ta 
masel’ eef A cud na fix in ma ain teeth — a bush black- 
smith maun be a handy mon, ye ken/ 

* Och, if Oi lose any teeth, Oi’m goin’ ter wait till 
Oi go ter Paris ter get ’em in, sorr. Will yez be afther 
drivin’ yer own in wid a hammer ? ’ 

‘ Hec, na, na, ye gommerill, maybe th’ German 
body A get ma teeth fra wull ha’ a bit gold in his 
pooch, A’m theenkin’ it wull na be unsoldierly ta 
tak’ it frae him f’r a gude purpose. Gie Jamie 
McGlusky th’ gold ta mak’ a mouth plate an’ th’ 
teeth ta fix ta it, an’ a wee hammer an’ a smooth 
stane f’r an anvil, an’ gin A dae na fix my teeth as 
beautiful as tombstones in a cemetery y’r at leeberty 
ta tie a napkin roon ma neck at meals an’ — an’ feed 
ma wi’ a spoon.’ 

‘ Sorr ? ’ 

* Aye, Ginger.’ 

' Y’r a jaynius, yez can make or mend maist any- 
thing.’ 

‘ Na, na, laddie, no’ a genius, but A ken th’ Almichty 
gie’d a mon brains ta theenk oot ways ter help hissel’. 
Some men air brocht oop sae badly, Ginger, they 
think shame ta dae a day’s work wi’ their han’s ; th’ 
mair useless th’ puir saft bodies air, th’ finer gentle- 
men they conseeder themsel’s. That’s ane o’ th’ 
greatest curses o’ Englan’, mannie. Mony o’ th’ 
feckless fules dinna ken if it’s th’ end they put in a 
saddle, or th’ end that carries a hat that was intended 
by th’ Creator f’r a theenkin’ machine. Dae ye mind 


24 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


that gommerill they ca’ed King Alfred we was readin’ 
about in th’ buik ? ’ 

‘ The wan that had na gumption enough to cook 
cakes, sorr ? ’ 

* Yes, that yin, an’ they kept him king after that, 
an’ th’ ither yin who didn’t ken hoo a woman man- 
aged to get an apple inta a dumplin’, because he 
cud na see th’ hole — fancy sic a feckless fule body 
rulin’ a keengdom. Men like them yins should be 
made ter work f’r their livin’, nothing teaches a body 
sound sense like hard work. Some day when the 
world has grown wiser, mannie, reverence an’ respec' 
wull fa’ on th’ men an’ women who dae th’ works 
w'ork, not on th’ fules who loaf through life. Did ye 
ivver watch a bee-hive from its beginnin’ to its endin’, 
Ginger ? ’ 

' Oi did not, sorr ; Oi watched wan whin it was 
full o’ honey in England, an’ Oi didn’t know th’ bee- 
keeper’s son was watchin’ me ; he pushed th’ bee-hive 
on top av me wid a pole, and the bees got busy — 
talk av something else, sorr, Oi’ve lost me intherest 
in bees, Oi’m goin’ ter invent a way ter make honey 
wid machinery whin Oi grow up.’ 

‘ A was only goin’ ta say; Ginger, that bees air the 
wisest beasts o’ th’ field ; they ha workers an’ sojer 
bees, an’ drones an' a queen ; they put up wi’ their 
drones an’ let ’em live on the fat o’ th’ hive f’r a long 
time, thin they hold an indignation meetin’, an’ they 
kill ’em, every yin o’ them, not a divil o’ a drone do 
they spare.' 

' Good f’r thim. Oi didn’t think th’ bastes had so 
much sinse, sorr.’ 

* Ginger, when A tak’ ye to Australia or New Zealan’, 


McGLUSKY GETS A RISE IN LIFE 25 

an’ we ha’ a little cottage wi’ a garden fu’ o’ roses 
an’ cabbages an’ daisies an’ turnips, A’ll build a bee- 
hive oot o’ glass an' ye shall study ’em ; a queen bee 
an’ her life an’ loves is th’ deepest study a mon can 
get below th’ stars ; dae ye ken, laddie, a queen bee 
is th’ only real incarnation o’ love, mother love, 
sweetheart love> passion love, that can be foond on 
this planet ? She’s a murderer for love’s sake, she's 
as lustfu’ an’ imperious as that ondacent faymale 
Cleopatra we studied in Egypt ; nothing in fur or 
feathers, in wings or in — in petticoats is as amorous 
as a queen bee, an’ when she gives herself in love, 
its just yin sparkle o’ splendour in mid air ; she an’ 
th’ lover they sparkle for their wee hour like twa 
burnished jewels, an’ thin she kisses him good-bye, 
an’ he comes floatin’ doon ta earth like yin o’ those 
dry leaves from th’ pear tree, an’ he’s as dead as 
frozen mutton, an’ she, th’ queen, she flashes back 
to her hive full o’ splendid life, an’ starts th’ ruction 
agin th’ drones, an’ has ’em all killed off.’ 

‘ Is that all thrue, sorr, or is ut by way av bein’ a . 
parable.’ 

‘ Laddie, it’s a’ true. A kept bees in glass hives 
on purpose ta watch ’em, they’re wunnderfu’ beasts.' 

‘ Sorr, does th’ bull bee th’ queen bee goes gallivan- 
tin’ in the air wid, love only wanst an’ thin die av 
ut ? ’ 

* He does, Ginger, he dies in a blaze 0’ intoxicatin' 
splendour.’ 

‘ Sorr ? ’ 

‘ Weel, mannie ? ’ 

* Ain’t yez dam glad yez wasn’t bom a bee, yez 
wud ha’ been dead before yez got inta throusies.’ 


26 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


The following morning McGlusky’s commanding 
officer sent for him, and said : 

' Look here, Mac, they tell me you are a clever 
mechanic ; is that so ? ’ 

* A’m na sa bad f’r a jack-o’-all-trades, sir/ 

f Were you ever a dentist in Australia ? * 

‘ A niver was, sir.’ 

‘ Then that red-headed young sweep of yours is a 
fearful liar. I overheard him telling some men of an 
Irish regiment that you had been, and he said you 
made a fortune putting false teeth in race-horses, 
and when I cross-questioned him, he swore it was 
true. He wouldn't know the truth if he saw it in a 
shop window.' 

'A’m no’ sure he’s a leear, sir; Ginger's just 
developin' his eemagination, he gets baud o’ a wee 
bit fancy, an' then puts peecturesque trimmin’s on 
't.' 

* I’ll put picturesque trimmings on him, if he works 
off any more of his lies on me. Did you ever build 
a steam-boat out of a couple of broken-down steam 
ploughs ? ' 

‘ Not that A remember, sir.’ 

‘ Nor invent a machine for extracting gold from 
sea water ? ' 

Mac shook his head negatively. 

‘ Perhaps you made an instrument you call a thought- 
aphone, which registers a man’s secret thoughts as 
accurately as a rain-gauge records a rainfall ? That 
lying imp said you had.’ 

Mac smote his big hands together exultantly. 

‘ Losh, sir, he’s a won’er, he’s jest bubblin’ ower 
wi’ gran’ ideas.’ 


McGLUSKY GETS A RISE IN LIFE 27 

* He is, and I’ll take some of the bubble out of him. 

I was wanting a man with brains, not the ordinary 
cut and dried mechanic of the shops ; they’re mostly 
all one pattern, they’ll do what they’re told, but I 
wanted a man who could think out a line for himself, 
and go ahead with it, and somehow it got about, 
and that poppy headed understudy of yours told me 
such yarns about you, I thought I’d found the man 
I wanted. I’ll ’ 

' What line o’ mechanics air ye wantin’ a mon f’r, 
sir ? A’m no’ a genius, but A’m handy.’ 

The look of annoyance on the C.O.’s face passed, 
and gave place to a grin. 

* Say, McGlusky, did you manufacture a machine 
that would shear sheep and comb the wool as it came 
off ? Your familiar devil said you did.’ 

‘ That’s jest his loyalty ta his frien’, sir ; he’s f'r 
ivver puttin’ ma on a pedestal. Tell ma what ye 
lack, an’ eef its in ma, A’ll dae it.’ 

‘ I want a man who can put any of our damaged 
aircraft right ; we are losing rather too many good 
flying men through machines going wrong ; the lads 
are good and game, but not one in twenty knows 
when a machine is going “ sick.” They go up in a 
hurry, and — well, you know what happens. Can 
you help me, eh ? ’ 

* A’m theenkin’ A can, sir, but ’ 

* Well, out with it.’ 

‘ A cam’ ta France ta fecht, no’ ta tinker oop sick 
machinery. Gin ye’ll promise ta let ma gang aloft 
an’ ha’ a fecht noo an’ then ta keep ma bluid cool, 
A’m wi’ ye.’ 

* I think you’re here to do as you’re told, McGlusky/ 


28 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


‘Verra weel, sir, tell ma wha’s wrang wi’ th' 
machines, an’ A’ll dae ma best ta put 'em richt.’ 

‘ Oh — h, I have a regiment of mechanics who can 
do that.’ 

* A’m no’ deesputin’ it, sir.’ 

‘ You cranky, contrary son of satan, it’s your own 
way you’re wanting. Men have been strapped to a gun- 
wheel for less than you’ve done. I’ve handled your 
sort in the bush, and on the gold fields, and ’ 

‘ They dinna seem ta ha’ eemproved y’r manners, 
sir. A’m a sojer, noo, but A’m a man.' 

‘ You’re not. You’re six feet odd of Scotch Aus- 
tralian pig-iron gotten into a uniform.’ 

McGlusky’s sinewy frame grew loose all over, every 
joint seemed to grow limber, every muscle supple 
and ready for action, as is the way with real fighters ; 
it’s the novice or the dunce at the game who tightens 
up all over like the spring of an overworked clock. 

‘ Australian A am, an’ dom prood o’ 't. Scotch 
bluid’s in ma veins. Where ye foond yer ain, sir, only 
God kens. A’m theenkin’ it was wrung oot o’ a dish- 
clout an’ made inta a mon, not meanin’ any disrespec’ 
ta yer rank, sir.’ 

‘I’m as Australian as you are, MoGlusky, and I 
wish to the Lord I hadn’t this uniform on, I’d give 
you a lesson in manners.’ 

‘ A’m theenkin’ ye wud na, a mon canna gie wha’ he 
hae na got ; but, sir, we may meet in th’ bush, when 
war’s ower, just twa men wi’ a deeference between us, 
an’ then -’ his gesture was eloquence petrified. 

‘ All the pleasure won’t be with you, Mac, if we do 
meet.’ 

‘A’ll hae ma share, sir.’ 


McGLUSKY GETS A RISE IN LIFE 29 

* Very well, let it go at that. I've an idea you're 
the man I want just now. I'll agree to let you go 
up in a fighting machine and scrap with the Germans, 
if you make good in my way, and just listen to this : 
our aircraft are the eyes of the army, and the Germans 
are working night and day to improve their machines ; 
sometimes they invent something that gives ’em a 
pull over us, and they boss the air for a while, and 
whichever army bosses the air, bosses the earth, for 
the airmen are the eyes of the guns, savee ? ’ 

‘ A teething child cud grasp that, sir.’ 

‘ Very well, use your brains, and if you can hit on 
an idea that will give us a pull over the enemy, if only 
for a week, it may make more difference than you 
imagine. ’ 

‘ ATl mak’ na promises, an’ A’li mak’ na boasts ; 
A’ll jest dae ma durndest, na mon can dae mair, but 
if a Scot has na mair brains in his skull f’r machinery 
than a squareheaded Hun, th' last generation o’ 
Scottish mitliers maun ha’ been daft bodies mair 
fitted f’r nunneries than nurseries.’ 

‘ The fathers too, I’m thinking, Mac.’ 

‘ Hoots, an’ y'r wrang ; ye hae na studied th’ 
pheesiology o’ th’ human species ; it’s fra th’ mithers 
we get all oor sense ; raisin’ weans is like gettin’ music 
oot o’ a barrel-organ, all th’ fathers ha tae dae wi’ it 
is tae turn th’ hannle, it’s th’ women that mak’ or 
damn a nation.’ 

The C.O. chuckled. 

' Say that from Nelson’s monument, McGlusky, 
and say it often enough, and the women will put you 
in Parliament.’ 

' They micht dae waur than that, A’m theenkin 1 . 


30 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


men wi’ less abeelity ha’ been premiers o' Englan’ 
— an’ wull be again.’ 

‘ Your modesty won’t choke you, McGlusky.’ 

‘ No men air really modest concernin’ their ain 
sel’s, sir ; some wear modesty as a wanton woman 
wears a cloak, ta hide wha’s unner, an' that which a 
mon hides is maistly best ta be hidden. A’m no’ 
hankerin’ tae be a poleeteecian, ye unnerstan’, f’r 
it’s na a clean job at the best, but A wud na say nay 
if th’ country wanted anither Cromwell.' 

When Ginger heard of McGlusky's new post, he 
was delighted, for he had dreams of becoming an 
airman. 

‘ Oi got yez the job, sorr,’ he chanted. 

‘ Why did ye tell yon C.O. sae mony awfu’ lees, 
wee laddie ? ’ 

* Och, an’ yez make me toired, sorr. Ring off 
about lyin’, divil a lie did Oi tell, ut — ut was diplo- 
macy. Ye’ve got the job, anyway, an' Oi’m y’r 
assistant.” 

McGlusky revelled in the work, for to his finger-tips 
he was a mechanic ; he worked early and late, and he 
made Ginger work until the Irish imp remarked : 

‘ Oi think Oi loike sojerin’ better’n bashin’ machin- 
ery wid a hammer, sorr,’ but his complaints did him 
no good. The big Scot, grease to the ears, only 
hustled him the harder, and soon the word passed 
along that the G.O. had found a treasure. It did 
not matter what hour of the night anything went 
wrong with aircraft, or what kind of a night it might 
be ; the rain might be pouring down in sheets, and 
a savage wind blowing, out the veteran would go, 
and Ginger, swinging a lantern and cursing pic- 


McGLUSKY GETS A RISE IN LIFE 31 

turesquely, would trudge at his heels, for the storm 
was never brewed that would make him desert his 
friend. When Mac wasn’t working, he was think- 
ing, planning some improvement that might help to 
put the British airmen a bit ahead of the Huns. Once 
a rather cheeky young air officer, to whom the Scot 
had offered a practical suggestion, told him to * close 
his head and mind his own business, which was to 
repair damages and not to offer advice.’ McGlusky 
wagged a thick forefinger which looked like a stick 
of tar at him. 

The officer backed away, and fell across Ginger. 

4 Who — who is he ? ’ he demanded. ‘Is he a 
maniac ? ’ 

4 Och, yes, sorr, ye've hit ut in wan guess, he’s a 
maniac all right, he’s a Roossian prince in disguise, 
workin’ here loike Pether the Great did in thim auld 
days, whin he was learnin’ ship buildin’. 

4 1 — I thought from his accent he was Scotch.’ 

4 That’s part av his disguise, sorr ; he’s Roossian, 
an’ a prince, all right, sorr.’ 

4 Is he always as violent as this ? ’ 

4 Vi’lent, och, sorr, yez caught him in a dhrame av 
shwateness ; y’r luck was in, sorr ; he don’t often tell 
people he’ll twist th’ nose av ’m wid a spanner — he 
does ut.’ 

A minute later McGlusky, watching the flying man 
moving off, said : 4 Ginger, what did ye say to yon 
birrd boy ? ’ 

4 Me, sorr ? Och, Oi said nothing at all that mat- 
thers, sorr ; Oi just remarked that Oi thought ut’d 
be a foine day f’r flyin’ termorrer.’ 

4 A’richt, Ginger, that’s a’richt, ye please me weel 


32 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


when y’r canny an’ discreet. A theenk y’r improvin’ 
now y’r away frae Snowy an’ the rest o’ th’ buckies.’ 

‘ Oi think Oi am, sorr ; Oi’m just bustin' wid good- 
ness.’ 

' Dinna get puffed up wi’ it, wee laddie, dinna luk 
doon on ither folk," y’r gudeness is na merit o’ y’r 
ain ; y’r jest as God A’michty made ye.” 

Then Ginger went about his work singing like a 
bird, and McGlusky, pausing enraptured to listen, 
wondered why there was so much chuckling in his 
melody. 

' The dear wee buckie,’ he murmured, * losli, he’s 
mair ’n half angel . th’ noo.’ 

In the course of time the big Scot evolved from his 
clever mechanical brain an improvement that — if 
it would only work — would enable our airmen to play 
havoc with the German scouts of the sky, who by 
virtue of their superior machines had been having far 
too much of their own way for the Commander-in- 
Chief’s liking. McGlusky, with characteristic dour- 
ness, kept his secret between himself and Ginger ; 
he knew he could trust the imp, for volatile as Ginger 
was in all other respects, in anything relating to 
McGlusky he was a wedge of silence. When, by per- 
mission of the C.O., Mac began scrapping a number 
of old machines, to get material to build his new one, 
it leaked out that the Old Timer had hit on an idea, 
and a good many ‘ experts ’ fluttered round. They 
soon found they could not pump McGlusky, so turned 
to Ginger, and then heaven opened for Ginger, and 
many a grim chuckle broke from McGlusky, as he 
caught scraps of the information (?) the Irish boy 
dealt out with a liberal hand to those inquiring experts. 


McGLUSKY GETS A RISE IN LIFE 33 


If a tithe of what Ginger told them had been true, 
Mac’s aircraft would have been the most wonderful 
thing that ever emanated from the brain of man. 
He would never talk in the presence of two people ; 
he got each of his victims by himself. ‘ Oi loike aich 
wan on his lonesome,’ was his way of expressing it 
to the Scot, and as he had a soul that was not above 
* tips,’ it proved a golden period for him. He had 
quite a goodly array of inquirers, and he swore each 
one to solemn secrecy with dark and deadly oaths, 
and then proceeded to fill them up with his own vivid 
imaginings, and McGlusky noted with wonder that 
he never told the same tale to any two people, and 
the stories bubbled out of him at the shortest possible 
notice. Sometimes Snowy the sharpshooter, when 
off duty, would drift to McGlusky’s works, which 
were close up in the rear of the fighting line, and 
Snowy would join up with Joe McNamara, an Irish 
soldier from Argentina, whom Mac had requisitioned 
as a helper, and the pair of them would follow Ginger’s 
brilliant flights of fancy with undisguised joy. 

1 That kid’s a marvel, Joe,’ Snowy would murmur 
between pulls at his pipe ; ‘ he don’t invent those tales, 
they live in his bones, his marrow’s brim full 0’ them, 
and the blessed funny part about it all is that his tales 
sound so feasible, he never overdoes it, and he can 
talk aircraft as if he’d been bom in one, and yet I 
know he never saw one, except in the sky, until he 
came to work here with the Old Timer.’ 

‘ What Oi loike best about th’ little swine’s lies is 
the way he suits ’em to his company. Notice him 
wid a crusty old banshee av a Colonel : he just drops 
hints and suggestions, an’ sort o’ defers to th’ Colonel 


o 

w> 


34 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


as if the old boy knew all about it, till the Colonel goes 
away as flattered as a widdy wid a wooden leg who’s 
been told she looks th’ image a,v Ramuska th’ Russian 
ball el-dancer.’ 

‘ The Old Timer don’t seem to mind him lying to 
people about his inventions,' remarked Snowy with 
his slow twilight kind of smile. 

‘ Divil a bit. Oi put it up to him, an’ he said : 
“ ’Tain’t lyin’ he’s doin’, it’s guardin’ an army secret 
he is, an’ he’s doin’ it wid circumspection an’ jaynius 
an’ profit to himself all mixed.” ’ 

‘ Yes, that’s the way with the pair o’ them — scratch 
Ginger, an’ you hurt McGlusky ; light a match near th’ 
Old Timer, an’ you set Ginger on fire. Hullo, Joe, 
who’s this bunch coming towards the works ? Looks 
like more souls thirsty for knowledge — an’ more fun 
for Ginger.’ 

Joe took a long look at them. 

4 Bedad, Oi know ’em, Snowy, they’re war correspon- 
dents. Ginger will have to keep his eye-teeth skinned. ’ 

* I’ll lay odds on the peony-headed whelp, Joe, we’ll 
be readin’ some wonderful an’ various yarns about 
airship inventions by an’ by, when th’ London papers 
come across. I’ll give Ginger a tip ; perhaps he’ll 
spread himself.’ 

‘ Spread himself,’ chuckled Joe ; ‘ he don’t need to; 
he’s an aigle f’r flights o' fancy at any old time.’ 

When the sharpshooter had conveyed his news, 
Ginger smiled. 

‘ Och, let me alone, they’re dead aisy. Oi’ll give 
’em some av their own game ; uts alwis aisy to catch 
a man at his own game, bekase he thinks he knows 
ut all — an’ he don’t — no one does.,’ 


mam 





<? 


McGLUSKY GETS A RISE IN LIFE 35 


The war scribes drifted towards the machine and 
one unslung a camera ; then a huge gaunt man in 
dirty overalls, begrimed with grease, a man with a 
vast nose like the beak of a vulture, and a mouth 
like a steel potato peeler, appeared from the far side 
of the aircraft. He had been cutting wooden wedges, 
and the tomahawk was still in his right hand. He 
strode to the man with the camera and shook the 
tomahawk menacingly. 

“ Gin ye open that dom theeng near ma aircraft, 
All gie it a skelp wi’ ma chopper.’ 

' My man, we — er — we are accredited war corre- 
spondents, we — er — we have our permits, we — er — 
the C.O. told us we were at liberty to use anything 
for .he press that you told us, we ' 

‘ Weel, A tell ye ta gang ta blazes — use that. A 
ken ye a’ fine ; A ha’ been an editor masel’ in ma time. 
Noo joomp.’ 

“ You’re a most outrageous person. I suppose we 
can stand on the earth, eh ? ’ 

' Not this bit o’ earth. A’m needin’ th’ bit y’r 
standin' on this minnit, buckie, an’ A’m goin’ ta ha’ it.’ 

He lunged forward, and drove the blade of the 
tomahawk at the left foot of his questioner, who got 
well back with the agility of a wild goat, and the 
rest with him. To them strolled Ginger, who knew 
how to seize the psychological moment in a crisis 
of this kind with unerring certainty. He was the 
personification of courtesy. 

‘ Oi’m hopin’, gintlemen, ye’ll not be moindin’ 
th’ eccentricities av me mechanic.’ 

‘ He’s a wild beast ; he’s not a man,’ splurged the 
scribe whose foot had been threatened with the axe. 





GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


36 

' Yez mustn’t moind him, gintlemen, he’s mad. 
Ut was a sthroke av th’ sun he got in India, whin he 
saved th’ great Gineral Roberts at the retrate av 
Kandahar. Oi have ter put up wid him bekase av 
his mechanical gifts; there’s not another man loike 
him alive.’ 

The scribes said they hoped not, from the sample 
they had had. Ginger, witji the air of a soldier who 
wanted greatly to ingratiate himself with superior 
beings, continued his parable. 

' Yez see, gintlemen, uts loike this. Oi ain’t a 
draughtsman, Oi can’t put me oideas on paper loike 
yez can do yerselves, Oi can only explain ’em wid 
me mouth ; if Oi explain ’em to an ordinary mechanic, 
th’ man sez he can’t work without drawin’s an’ speci- 
fications, but if Oi tell this man he grasps th’ idea at 
wanst, an’ works ut out loike — loike er dairymaid 
works butter out av crame.’ 

* Then you — you are the real inventor ? ’ 

' Me ? Och no, me an’ him betwane us. Oi foind . 
th’ ideas, an’ he puts ’em into wood an’ iron ;] he’s 
the rale janius, not me.’ 

The ingenuous air of modesty that accompanied the 
words would have charmed a plaster saint off its 
pedestal. 

‘ Got ’em first shot, Joe,’ whispered Snowy to 
McNamara, for the pair, apparently non-attentive 
to their surroundings, had loafed within earshot. 
Ginger saw them. He became austere in a moment, 
and called out sharply as any sergeant-major drilling 
an awkward squad : 

‘ Now thin, me lads, out o’ this. If Oi have ter 
spake to yez again, Oi’ll — Oi’ll report yez/ 


McGLUSKY GETS A RISE IN LIFE 37 

Snowy and Joe saluted. 

‘ Didn’t mean any harm, Mr. Inventor ; jest havin’ a 
smoke.’ 

The diffidence in Snowy’s voice and manner helped 
Ginger a lot with the scribes. They began to work 
the pump, but Ginger soon let them know in an 
indirect way that he wasn’t giving anything away. 
He detached himself from them, and strolled away in 
an apparent brown study. One of the news gatherers 
followed him, and the two watching soldiers saw a 
very neat piece of sleight of hand work, which enriched 
Ginger not a little and left the war correspondent no 
poorer, seeing the transaction would be charged up 
to his office probably as ‘ horse feed,’ a correct de- 
signation, as it provided a good deal of chaff amongst 
the soldiers later on. A couple of the scribes took 
Snowy and Joe in hand for information concerning 
the young genius — and they got it. Joe had the 
most picturesque style, but for wealth of detail Snowy 
was hard to beat. 

‘ Never heard of that kid before ? ’ he said pityingly. 

* Never heard of the patent crane he invented, and the 
Old Timer made out of scrap iron in Gallipoli, for 
hoistin’ men ’nd things up the cliffs ? ’ 

The news seeker said he hadn’t. 

' Fair smasher at inventin’ things, that poppy-headed 
nipper. It used ter take about sixty mules an’ a lot 
o' men to, haul a gun up a cliff a hundred feet high 
an’ straight as the side of a church. The kid invented 
a hauling lift. He said it come to him in a dream. 
One man could work it easy. I’ve done it myself many 
a time. All you had to do was sit on a rock and 
twiddle a bit of a handle with your finger ; that 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


38 

worked a lot of cogs an’ things, and you could lift 
up a mule as easy as liftin’ an empty biscuit tin. If 
he’d only had an education, he’d be on the staff 
now, instead of being only a private. We’re awful 
proud of him.’ 

' Good reason you soldiers have to be proud of him ; 
he’s no ordinary lad, he’s — he’s a landmark in our 
times, and such a modest young fellow too.’ 

'Yes,’ agreed Snowy, looking at the war correspond- 
ent without the flicker of his eyelids. ' He is modest. 
Modesty is Ginger’s strong point.’ And Joe, who 
caught that part of Snowy’s oration, nearly exploded 
at the bare idea of coupling Ginger and shyness. 

Joe had not been idle himself ; he had furnished 
his victim with a full account of the young inventor’s 
parentage which, as the correspondent affirmed, 
would make juicy ‘ copy ’ for his journal. According 
to the gospel by Joe, Ginger’s father had died in the 
arms of glory, charging up an African kopje in the 
teeth of a storm of lead, to save a British gun, and 
the honour of a regiment, and then with a tear on his 
tongue, he added : 

‘ An’ his pore little divil av a son was thrown on th’ 
baggiest part av his throusies on a cold world to live 
— or — or die, till the Old Timer found him an’ got 
him into the army.’ 

Later, when the three correspondents came to- 
gether, they compared notes. The one who had 
been with Ginger said : 

‘ I know all about the new aircraft ; it’s— by Gad 
—it’s simply wonderful. That ship will surprise the 
Boches ; why, it can do any mortal thing it likes, 
except play the piano. I got it all from the inventor 


McGLUSKY GETS A RISE IN LIFE 


39 


kid— wonderful gift of description he’s got, and— 
it only cost me a fiver. What did you fellows 
get ? ’ 

' Got the young inventor’s life and adventures 
and his gallant father’s life and death ; cost us three 
pound between us, and dirt cheap at the price.’ 

He might not have thought so if he’d heard Ginger 
telling Joe that his father wasn’t dead, not by a 
bagful, but was doing time in Dublin gaol for sheep 
stealing in Ireland. 

When McGlusky saw the conspirators dividing up 
the spoils he asked : 

‘ An’ what air ye goin’ ta dae wi’ th’ siller, ye ill- 
condeetioned gommerills ? ’ 

‘ Goin’ to put it away to build a hospital for idiots/ 
crooned Snowy, and Ginger gurgled. 

' Och, don’t mention ut, Snowy darlin’, ut makes 
me ill ; ut was loike takin’ bread an’ butther from a 
blind boy.’ 

‘ Weel, it’s th’ last ye’ll get this way, ye three 
scuts ; th’ machine’s ready noo, an’ A’m goin’ ta 
take her oop an’ try her oot as a fechter th’ morn ; her 
gun’s a’ ready an’ works like a watch. A’ll be hopin’ 
ta ha’ a fecht aboot a mile fra th’ earth, an’ gin ma gun 
dinna shake a’ th’ reevits loose an’ bring her doon, 
she’ll dae fine, A’m theenkin’.’ Then, turning with 
beaming face to Snowy and Joe, he added : ‘ A’ve 
a great honour an’ a gran’ treat in store f’r ye baith, 
ma buckies. A’m gawn ta tak’ ye oop wi’ ma.’ 

Snowy’s eternal chuckle cracked the silence that 
followed. Then Joe remarked meekly : 

‘ Oi’ve done a bit o’ flyin’, Old Timer, but — er — 
what use wud Oi be in — er — in your new invention ? ’ 


40 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


‘ Ye’ll dae f’r ballast, Joe ; ye can steer whiles A work 
ma gun. Noo grup han’s on it, A won’t go back on ma 
promise ta ye baith, but walk canny an’ dinna be 
puffed up wi’ th’ honour.” 

Neither Snowy "nor Joe looked as if joy was going to 
be the death of either of them, but McGlusky was 
supremely unconscious of the gloom he had cast on 
their lives. 


CHAPTER III 

’TWIXT EARTH AND HEAVEN 

A T intervals during the whole time he had been 
mending ‘ sick ’ air craft, the big Scot had 
gone into cloudland with various airmen, and had 
quickly picked up the art of ‘ flying.’ 

‘ It’s no’ hard ta learn,’ he had remarked. ‘ A find it 
easier ta han’le aircraft in th’ hivins than a motor ar 
on a road ; there’s no’ so mony things ta hit.’ 

In due course Ginger had gone up with him, and 
picked up the business, as McGlusky said : ‘ Like 
pickin’ oop pennies frae a church plate.’ At first the 
youngster had not warmed to the flying idea at all. 

* It’s just gran’ skimming along unner an’ over th’ 
clouds,’ the Scot had explained, and the Irish imp 
had retorted : 

‘ Och, sorr, th’ skirmishin’ part’s right enough ; 
what Oi don’t loike is th’ droppin’. Oi don’t want ter 
come down a thousand feet turnin’ han’ springs in th' 
air, an’ landin’ on me spine on a church steeple ; 
Oi’d rather die dacent wid a bullet or a bit av a baynit 
in me. Oi don’t want ter be skewered by no auld 
church steeple, specially wan ? wid weather-cocks 
on ut.’ 

‘ Wee mannie, ye won’t come doon unless y’r shot 
doon ; ye’ll be as safe wi’ ma as a birrd on the wing. 
Don’t A uunerstan’ engines ? ’ 
n 


42 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


‘ Bedad, ut won’t make ut any th’ swater ter be 
shot first an’ fall after, sorr, will ut ? ’ 

‘ A’m shamed o’ ye, Ginger. Eef A didn'a ken 
ye, A’d theenk ye were frichted.’ 

‘ Bedad, an’ Oi am, sorr.’ 

* Whisht, mannie, doesn’t ivvery birrd o’ th’ air 
tak’ th’ same chance in peace or war time ? Buckies 
ha’ been shootin’ at them f’r ages. Y’r Anzac, an’ 
no Anzac is feared ta tak’ th’ same chances as a birrd.’ 

‘ Bedad, sorr, y’r logic may be dam good logic, but 
there’s no sinse in ut. Birds don’t take thim chances 
because they loike ’em, they take ’em because they 
must, an’, sorr, Oi’m no canary or aigle ayther. Oi’ll 
scrap in me boots wid any one, but ut makes me sick 
in th’ sthummick ter think av divin’ three thousan’ 
fate an’ — an’ a church steeple wid a spike on ut waitin’ 
f’r me.’ 

For all his dislike of the idea, Ginger went into the 
air — it was that, or forfeit McGlusky’s good opinion, 
and rather than that. Ginger would have gone to 
Hades in search of ice. The first hour in the air he 
was as nervous as a stray dog on a strange doorstep, 
but in a little while the exhilarating influence of the 
higher altitudes acting upon his Irish temperament 
like old wine on a new drinker, made him almost 
drunken with the joy of life, and the glory of con- 
quering the unknown. Soon McGlusky had to ex- 
postulate vividly with him, saying : 

‘ Canna ye keep still, ye scarlet-tinted spawn o y 
mischief ? Dae ye theenk yer in a rockin’ cradle, 
or joy ridin’ ta th’ deevil ? Eef ye move agin f’r half 
an hoor, All ding ye a cloot wull mak’ th' drum o’ yin 
ear play bagpipes in th’ ither. If A was no’ a God- 


TWIXT EARTH AND HEAVEN 


43 


fearin’ mon, ye’d mak’ ma pollute th’ atmosphere wi’ 
langwidge that wud blister y’r hide. Dae ye no’ 
ken th’ groon’ is twa miles below us, an’ if ye empty us 
oot we’ll be hurtit.’ 

The man who was accompanying them at the time 
as pilot never said a word — he couldn’t, but when they 
reached the earth he chased Ginger for a mile with the 
metal spoke of a broken gun-wheel. 

All these things being duly considered, it was only 
natural that the imp should feel confident that he 
was to make one of the crew on McGlusky’s trial 
flight. Fierce was his wrath when the Scot informed 
him that such was not his intention. 

‘ Y’r takin’ Shnowy, sorr.’ 

* Aye, laddie, Snowy’s a gran’ snapshot, an’ A 
may meet wi’ ane or mair Germans up there.’ 

' Y’r takin’ th’ Irisher, Joe MacNamara, wid yez, 
sorr.’ 

Ginger’s voice was deadly cold and dispassionate. 

‘ A’m takin’ Joe. A kenned him well in Argentina 
— a wild buckie, but a gran’ fechter, an’ he can han’le 
ma wee cannon maist as well as A can masel’.’ 

‘ Och, an’ what are yez goin’ ter do yerself, sorr ? ' 

‘ Me, Ginger ? A’m goin’ tae be comman’er in 
chief, luk after th’ engines, an’ fecht ma ship generally.' 

' An’ whoy are yez lavin’ me out, sorr ? ’ 

' Because it’s a trial trip, wee laddie, an’ gin ma 
invention gangs wrong, hivin’s going ter be richer 
by three souls th’ day.’ 

' Hivin,’ sneered Ginger. ‘ Snowy an’ Joe won’t 
know the way there.’ 

‘ A’ll tak’ ye next time, wee mannie, eef th’ inven- 
tion’s a success.’ 


44 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


‘ Will yez ? ' 

Something in the boyish voice, something that 
rasped like steel ripping from the scabbard, made the 
Scot look straight into the big, beautiful Irish eyes, 
and he recoiled as if he had been struck. Something 
that was almost hate blazed out of those eyes that 
had always beamed on him in love. The young face 
was white with the grey whiteness of storm-swept 
sleet, and the usually laughing lips were curled in a 
sneer. 

' Wee mannie, ye ken A lo’ ye like ma ain bairn, 
but y’r young, ye dinna dream o’ th’ danger ; eef — eef 
ma invention's no’ a success, it’s — death.’ 

With a gesture that was sublime in its tenderness, 
the big man stretched out both hands yearningly, 
but Ginger, with a mocking, sneering smile, bitter as 
bitter aloes on thirsty lips, never relented. 

' Och, Mister McGlusky, yez needn’t be frettin’ 
about meself ; sorra’s the day yez ivver picked me 
out av th’ gutther ; ye’ve thried meself out an’ weighed 
me an’ found me a — coward.’ 

Mister McGlusky ! The prefix from Ginger cut 
like a wet lash on a green wound. 

* Ginger ! ’ 

The one word came in a deep bass growl, freighted 
with pain. 

* Ginger ! ’ 

But without a word, the laddie swung round on his 
heel and marched off, and made straight for his dug-out. 

McGlusky’s hard face worked strangely for a moment, 
then his figure straightened ; he turned and went across 
to his aircraft, and, picking up a screw-wrench and 
an oil-can, he busied himself putting the finishing 


TWIXT EARTH AND HEAVEN 


45 


touches on his engine, preparatory to flight. To him 
drifted Snowy, cool and unconcerned in demeanour 
as ever. McGlusky told him what had happened with 
Ginger, finishing with : 

‘ An’, Snowy, he, ma ain laddie, ca’ed ma Mister 
McGlusky, an’ didn’a weesh ma farewell an’ God 
speed.’ 

Snowy, chewing his plug methodically, ruminated 
for a few moments, then : 

' Old Timer, I heard an Englishman say once that we 
Australians are the cruellest breed of men under the 
sun ; we always hurt the things we love most, an’ 
by G I believe it.’ 

' Dinna say ane word agin ma wee mannie, Snowy ; 
he ’ 

' I’m not, Old Timer ; if I’m saying anything 
against anybody, it’s against you.’ 

‘ Agin ma ? ’ 

Mac almost closed his eyelids and peered hard at 
the sharpshooter. 

' Yes, you, Old Timer.’ 

‘ Wha’s wrang wi’ ma ? ’ 

‘ You turned the kid down, put me an’ Joe before 
him, an’ you told him so yourself. If — Old Timer 
— if I’d loved kid Ginger half as well as you do, I’d 
rather have shot him.’ 

‘ A did it ta save him frae th’ danger.’ 

‘ Danger ! ’ For once Snowy lost his eternal calm, 
and his slow voice was vibrant. ‘ Do you think, Old 
Timer, that kid fears danger? I mind the night 
when the Flamingo and the Mutineer an’ me saw him 
go to a hill which Turkish shells were turning into a 
merry hell to look for you when you were wounded. 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


46 

I mind how he and the Mutineer followed you to 
what looked like certain death, when you blew up the 
reserve ammunition at the evacuation of Gallipoli. 
Danger ! ’ — Snowy’s lip curled — ' Old Timer, if you 
was sortin’ cobwebs in hell an’ wanted a drink, that 
Irish scut would bring it to you, if he had to climb down 
the flue to find you.’ 

McGlusky laid a great hand on Snowy’s throat. 

‘ Haud yer bletherin’. Dae ye theenk A dinna 
ken it a’ ? He’s too good ta be wastit in a trial 
scheme like this yin. You an’ me an’ auld Joe dinna 
matter ; he’s gaun ta be a great mon, a — a landmark 
yin o’ these days. Haud y’r gab, f’r y’r tearin’ at 
ma heartstrings.’ 

Anzac Snowy, who feared neither man nor devil, 
looked into the big, savage face, and his own wore 
the same expression Ginger’s had worn when Mc- 
Glusky had turned him down. 

‘ It isn’t in me, Old Timer, to love any one, man, 
child or woman, as the kid loves you, but if I did, 
an’ you turned me down — to save me — I'd hate you 
with a mad dog hate all my days. Don’t you under- 
stand, he thinks you’re a tin god, and he knows — we 
all know — what you think of gameness, and you’ve 
pushed him away from your side when you’re going 
into danger. If he lives to be a thousand, the memory 
of that will hurt him. What would you do if the 
C.O. came and pulled you off this job and put a man 
in your place, because of the danger, Old Timer ? ’ 

‘ Me ? What wud A dae ? A’d tak’ th’ ither 
buckie by th’ boots, an’ use him as a baynit ta bust 
ma machine, no’ in anger, ye ken, but ta mark ma 
sense o’ een justice done ma.’ 


’TWIXT EARTH AND HEAVEN 


47 


‘ You’ve been more unjust to the kid, Old Timer.’ 

Then Snowy, the hero of a hundred heroic deeds, 
did the bravest thing of his fearless life. He risked 
being considered a coward.. Touching the rugged 
hand nearest him, he said : 

‘ You say you only want two men with you on this 
trip. Cut me out. Take Joe an’ Ginger. I — I 
don’t cotton to this flying game ; it — ain’t — my line.’ 

The Scot peered at the smooth, expressionless young 
face that he had seen so often close to his own in the 
mad melee of battle, and gasped. 

* Wha’s wrang wi’ ye, Snowy ? Ye — ain’t — lost — 
y’r nerve, laddie ? ’ 

‘ Seems like it, Old Timer.' 

* Weel, A’ll be dommed. Ha’ ye been drinkin' o’ 
late on the quiet ? ' 

‘ Soakin in it.’ 

‘ Not bad news fra hame, buckie ? ’ 

‘ Yes — the worst Now you go an’ get Ginger ; he’s 
not as good a shot as I am, but he’s thundering good.’ 

* Wud no’ a dram or two buck ye oop f’r this yin 
trip ? A dinna believe in it on general preenciples, 
but whiles whusky’s good.’ 

‘ I’m not going ; go an’ get Ginger.’ 

McGlusky threw down his screw-wrench and strode 
off to Ginger’s dug-out. Irish Joe McNamara caught 
Snowy’s hand. 

‘ By the green ribbon av St. Patrick, Snowy, y’r 
a pal worth callin’ a pal.’ 

‘ Oh, cut it out, Joe,’ replied the slow voice, really 
weary this time. ‘I’ve lost the respect of the only 
man I ever cared a tinker’s cuss about. He thinks 
I’m a quitter — but — I had — to be fair to the kid.’ 


48 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


McGlusky came back from the dug-out ; his hard 
face was strangely perturbed. 

‘ The wee laddie’s gone,’ he said ; ' packed his traps, 
rifle an’ a’ an’ gone, an’ — nivver a gude-bye ta ma, 
an’ A loved him like a mither.’ 

‘ Th’ young swine,’ growled Joe. 

Mac turned like a wild boar. 

‘ Dinna open y’r head that gate, Joe McNamara, 
about ma wee mannie ; eef ye dae, A’ll bend th’ 
top part back an’ th’ bottom part doon till y’rmooth 
luks like a stew-pot waitin’ ta be filled. Yon laddie’s 
a gran’ laddie, an’ he wud na be haf so gran’ eef he 
no’ had fau’ts.’ 

Snowy’s tongue clicked on his palate, for he knew 
how any one would fare who maligned Ginger in the 
presence of the veteran. 

' Where do you think th’ kid’s gone, Old Timer ? ’ 

‘ Dunno, ma buckie, but ma heart’s in ma wame 
concernin’ him.’ 

4 Lay you a thousand to one I place him, Old Timer.’ 

' Where, Snowy ? Tell me ; y’r awfu’ wise in 
some things, though ye hae na th’ sense o’ a he-goat 
in ithers.’ 

' The kid has gone to th’ trenches. I’ll bet my hat 
he’s up alongside th’ Flamingo, potting Boches.’ 

* Wha’ mak’s ye theenk so, buckie ? ’ 

‘ Where does a lame dog crawl to when it’s hurt ? 
Does it go to strangers, or to men it knows, Old Timer ? ’ 

' Losh, buckie, on yin side o’ yer head y’r a theenker ; 
ye’ve hit it, that’s where ma wee mannie ha’ gone 
sure enough. A’m hopin’ th’ Flamingo’ll tak’ care 
o’ him, but he’s a waesome fule in a fecht, is th’ 
Flamingo.’ 


TWIXT EARTH AND HEAVEN 


49 


‘ Don’t worry, the Flamingo’s all right ; he joined 
up ter get his light put out, because his best girl 
threw him over in Australia ; but those chaps who try to 
get killed have a devil’s charm with ’em : they swing 
like a gate -on one hinge, an’ never fall. Flamingo 
tried \\is darndest ter get a ticket ter go west in Galli- 
poli. I saw him asking for it a hundred times ; so 
did you, Old Timer ; but he’ll look after the kid for 
your sake.’ 

‘ For ma sake, Snowy ? ’ 

‘ Yes, the Flamingo thinks a mighty lot o' you ; 
don’t know why, unless it’s on account of your fatal 
beauty ; perhaps you remind him of the girl who 
chucked him. From what I know of the Flamingo 
he’d be liable to fall in love with a girl all bones an’ 
bruises.' 

‘ A’ve no time f’r it, Snowy, or A’d swat ye ower th’ 
mooth. A maun gang an’ find anither mon ta gang 
up wi’ ma in y’r place.’ 

There was a moment’s silence whilst the Scot was 
putting bombs into his aircraft, then Snowy's slow, 
even drawl crawled lazily along the silences. 

‘ Thought I heard you say something about a couple 
of nips you had stowed away in a bottle somewhere. 
Old Timer.' 

Mac turned with a flicker of hope in his eyes. 

‘ Dae ye think a wee drappie wud put ye richt enough 
ta gae oop wi ma, Snowy ? ’ 

* Fm feelin’ better ’n I did ; I think I’d be able to 
hit a house with my rifle if I had a drop under my shirt, 
Mac.' 

With a snort of delight, Mac dived into his kit-bag 
and produced a black bottle. 


4 


50 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


' A got it f’r medicine, or f’r accidents, agin — er — 
agin snake-bites/ he explained. 

Snowy helped himself bashfully to ' two fingers/ 

' Dinna be afraid o’ it, buckie ; tak’ three fingers 
ta settle y’r stummick, an’ three mairta put th’ 
Gallipoli glint inta y’r een, laddie, an’ then A ken 
it's God help the Boche that comes wi’in a mile o' y’r 
rifle/ 

There’s nothing on earth so generous as a generous 
Scotchman, and to a man he warmed to Mac would 
give his shirt. It may seem a small thing to hand 
out a bottle of whisky, but when it’s your last, and 
you know the virtue as well as the vice that underlies a 
cork, and you may go months before you can replace 
that bottle, it’s not such a small matter as it looks on 
paper. Snowy helped himself, and made it * three 
fingers/ then he said : 

‘ Say, Old Timer, Joe’s lookin’ a bit white about the 
gills ; think he wants some medicine too. You've 
built this old machine o’ yours out o’ scraps and odds 
an’ ends ; it may hold together, an’ it may not ; if it 
don’t, we’re all goin’ halo-huntin’, see ? ’ 

‘ Gie Joe a taste. Air you feelin' better, Snowy ? ' 

* Me ? Oh, I’m beginning to feel fine.’ 

He threw his rifle up to his shoulder, and flashed 
his unerring eyes along the sights. 

‘ Think I could hit a hayrick as it is, Old Timer.’ 

McGlusky beamed upon him. 

4 Ye’re a wunner when y’r in form, Snowy ; ye 
cud pick th’ nine spots oot o' tli’ nine o’ spades wi* 
a rifle as far as ye cud see th’ cards. A’ve seen ye dae 
it, an’ dae it too when bullets were blisterin’ th' air 
roon’ y’r ears. Aye, gie Joe a drink ; twa o’ his fingers 


TWIXT EARTH AND HEAVEN 51 

wull dae f’r him ; his fingers are as thick as bamboo 
sticks, an’ A’ve only yin bottle, ye ken/ 

Joe, with a bashful grin, took hold of the J)ottle, 
and helped himself, and being Irish he held his fingers 
wide apart. 

‘ Losh/ growled McGlusky, ‘ ye’ve dom near filled 
th’ pannikin, Joe. A’d begrudge it ye, ye chim- 
pinazee, if A didn’ a ken ye f’r a fechter.’ 

‘ Have a wee sup yerself, Old Timer,’ cooed Snowy. 

‘ Not a dom drappie f’r ma ; A’ll hae mine whin ma 
machine mak’s good, laddie. Noo all aboard, an’ 
remember th’ eyes o’ th’ universe air on us.’ 

Joe and Snowy got aboard, and Snowy, half atheist 
and all materialist, cooed : 

‘ Got any spare chunks of religion, Joe ? If you 
have, ladle ’em out now, for we’re going three miles 
up ' with a mad Scotchman who didn’t know what 
fear meant when he was being suckled, and hasn’t 
had time to learn it since.’ 

Joe grinned back. 

‘ We’re part of a lunatic emporium, we are ; Berlin 
for us, or an untimely grave in a bunch of trees.’ 
Then his happy face cracking all over with laughter : 

‘ Snowy ? ’ 

‘ Yes, Joe.’ 

* I’d be dam near happy if the kid was with us ; 

I don’t like the thought of him in the trenches with 
th’ Flamingo.’ 

* Oh, cut it out ; you don’t know the Flamingo, he’ll 
dry-nurse the kid all right, same as I would ; if the 
kid tries to get killed foolish, th’ Flamingo’ll bash him 
with th’ butt, an’ all the old gang of Gallipoli will 
enter into a conspiracy of action to prevent the kid 


52 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


from committing harakiri ; we know the kid an' 
th’ Old Timer too ; th’ brigade don't want th’ Old 
Timer ragin' among them for the sake of a red-headed 
Irish whelp who wanted to run amuck ; think they 
don’t know th' Old Timer ? You bet your hat they 
do. Ginger couldn't be safer in a church choir than 
he'll be with th’ Flamingo an’ his pals, when they 
tumble to his story, and they'll tumble mighty quick 
when they see his white face an’ his hungry eyes. 
Now you watch Mac, you’re goin’ to have the time o' 
your life ; you’ll wish you was a potato in old Ireland 
before this circus is over. I know th' Old Timer ; 
he’s got his fighting boots on ; this ain’t no trial trip 
in the ordinary sense ; he means fight, an’ when he 
means fight, he gets it ; it's a way the beast has. The 
English are mad, the Irish are madder, but the Scotch 
are maddest of all when they see a fight anchored in 
the offing.' 

' Glad you told me,’ grinned Joe, 'I wish I was a 
little boy selling papers in th' streets av dear dirty 
Dublin.' 

‘ You’re a liar ; you wouldn’t be out o’ this scrap 
for the D.S.O. or the V.C. Look at the Old Timer 
jumping like a mountain goat from his darned machine 
to his levers; if ever a man was happy, he is now. 
God help you if you don’t make good with the gun/ 

After the first rush of a hundred yards or so over level 
ground, MacGlusky’s machine rose gloriously and 
sailed into the blue empyrean, and the fighting men 
stood to their task. Upward ever upward climbed 
Mac’s ship. 

" Be me soul, Oi think he’s steerin’ f’r hivin’s gate,' 
commented Joe. 


TWIXT EARTH AND HEAVEN 


53 

* He’ll lose part of his crew before he gets through 
then ; you’re not ripe for heaven yet, Joe.’ 

‘ Oi don't see any wings growin’ on you ayther. 
Snowy.’ 

‘ Wish you could. I’d feel a big. lump more 
comfortable in this old tin can if I had wings, Joe. 
Lord,’ he continued in his placid drawl, * did you 
hear this old sardine tin rattle then ? Every time he 
changes her course suddenly, she chatters as if she 
had the ague. Listen to them blasted rivets now ; 
they rattle like loose teeth in the head of an old man. 
He’s had to use any old thing to build her.’ 

Joe took a peep over the side. 

‘ Howly Saints, Snowy, Oi think we must be up 
about six miles. Oi can’t see the earth.’ 

‘ What’s the odds if we’re up sixty ? It won’t hurt 
any more from here than it would from a hundred 
yards, if we have a bust-up, an’ anyway we’ll have a 
longer fly f’r our money.’ 

Joe thought it all out for a bit, then the grin on his 
face, like a moonbeam gilding a mud barge, he an- 
nounced : 

‘ Oi’m not goin' ter be relegious when Oi get back 
ter earth ; Oi didn’t think it cud be so blamed uncom- 
fortable near hivin.’ 

So chuckling and jesting as they juggled with death, 
the citizen soldiers of Empire waited and watched, 
whilst McGlusky, happy as a schoolboy, worked like a 
demon. Suddenly, after a glance at his distance 
recorder, which was at his elbow, he shouted : 

* We’ve done it, boys ; we’ve beat th’ altitude record. 
That part o’ ma eenvention's a’ richt ; we’ll be able ta 
get above the Boches’ machines noo when we please, an' 


54 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


top dog’s th’ winnin’ dog in th’ air. Noo haud y’r 
breath, A’m goin’ ta tak’ a dive ; eef she dives as weel 
as she climbs, she’s a bird. Noo dinna fash eef y’r 
innards get oop in y’r heads, as A dive; A’ll stop 
her afore she hits th’ earth — eef ma engine acts like 
a lady.’ 

' If the blessed old tea kettle he calls his engine 
acts like a cow instead of a cock kingfisher and I 
think its likely, Joe, we’re goin’ to sample some o’ th’ 
soil o’ France.’ 

‘ Hope we hit a part that’s been ploughed, Snowy.’ 

‘ Whatever we hit, Joe, we won’t come up again 
till next spring, an’ then we’ll be vegetables.' 

‘ Oi won’t,’ chortled Joe; ' Oi’ll be a. shamrock.’ 

* Yes, ye’re green enough,’ sniggered the sharp- 
shooter. 

Mac’s warning voice rang clear : 

‘ Noo, buckies, keep y’r nerve.’ 

The ' ship ’ ducked her nose and, like a fish-hawk 
diving on its finny prey, shot downwards. The last 
thing they heard the big Scot say was : 

‘ If Ginger was here, he’d be singin’ f’r varra 

joy-' 

The rush downwards took the breath out of Snowy, 
but he managed to gasp : 

' An’ if I was where Ginger is, I’d be singin’ for joy 
too.’ 

Joe, between gasps for breath, pointing an accusing 
finger at McGlusky, choked out : 

‘ Och, Snowy, uts a failin’ sthar he thinks he is/ 

* Well — he’s — failin’ — ain’t he ? ’ came the answer 
in a wheezing gurgle. 

But McGlusky, if he heard, made no reply. He 


TWIXT EARTH AND HEAVEN 


55 


sat strapped to his seat,- his big feet braced against a 
wooden bar, his hands clenched on his driving gear, 
his head thrown far back, his crew of two seeming 
almost beneath his feet where they sat, so straight 
did he dive. In that moment his face was a sight 
for the old gods to revel in ; every clean-shaven 
feature seemed hewn out of railroad iron ; his clenched 
mouth was a red line only ; his frowning brows lapped 
over his piercing eyes ; his eagle nose seemed to curve 
even more than usual, by the pressure of the facial 
muscles ; nothing about him moved, except his big 
nostrils, which opened and closed like bellows in action. 
Snowy, grand fighting man that he was, looked up- 
ward at the iron face, and muttered : 

‘ He’s good enough to go to heaven with.’ 

The next moment he thought he’d got there. Mac’s 
fierce old eyes had flashed on to the instrument that 
told him at a glance how near the earth he was ; his 
wrists worked like the wrists of a rider on the reins 
when a horse is fighting for its head ; the levers did 
their part ; the ‘ ship ’ rose by the nose and sank by 
the stern, until she floated on an even keel, and every 
joint in her whole outfit protested loudly, and for an 
instant Snowy thought her back was broken, and 
glanced over the side to see if the church with the 
sharp spire on it, which Ginger used to talk about, 
happened to be right underneath. It was, and he 
commented on the fact to Joe, by way of cheering 
the man from Argentina in case he was feeling neglected. 
One hasty glance was enough for Joe. 

‘ Uts a church spire all right, Snowy, an’ uts got an 
iron lightnin’ conductor tin fate long sthuck straight 
up on th' top av ut. Och, Oi’m awful fond o' th’ 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


56 

church, but Oi don’t want that end av ut ; th’ lightnin’ 
conductor’s f’r you, Snowy.' 

' Not f’r me, Joe ; I’m no Churchman, never was — 
I’m a fresh- water Baptist, I am. You stick to your 
church, Joe.’ 

' Oi will, if Oi fall on that blamed loightnin’ con- 
ductor; Oi’ll ’ 

At that instant, something flashed up past the 
‘ ship ’ and burst above her ; there was a puff of white 
smoke, a gleam of wicked-looking red, yellow and 
heliotrope flame, and some odds and ends of shrapnel 
came whizzing round and past them like angry hornets. 

‘ Glory be, we’re in f’r a scrap ; this is dacent.’ 

Joe’s voice rose in a whoop of sheer delight, and 
he depressed the muzzle of his gun whilst Snowy lan- 
guidly unshipped his rifle, measured the distance 
with eyes that never erred, and shook his head at 
McGlusky sorrowfully. 

‘ Too far f’r me, Old Timer ; Joe’s gun might do 
something.’ 

‘ Can ye see any sojers doon there ? ' 

‘ Looks like a bunch away to the right.’ 

Bang — bang. A couple more shells exploded peri- 
lously near. 

‘ Dinna fash aboot y’r gun, Joe, not yet ; maybe 
they’ll send some o’ their airmen up after us, then ye 
can get beesy. You, Snowy, get a couple o’ bombs 
ready ; A’m goin’ ter rise a wee ter spoil their gunners' 
range, then A’ll run ower th’ top o’ that bunch o’ 
sojers an’ you put a wee bit acteevity inta 'em wi’ 
th’ bombs. A’m theenkin’ they’ll no’ like it.’ 

‘ They haven’t got ter like it,’ cooed Snowy, ‘ but 
they’ve got ter get it.' 


’TWIXT EARTH AND HEAVEN 57 

Mac stirred his engine ; the ‘ ship ’ shivered, and 
plunged ahead, and as she did so, shells burst right 
in the space she had just left. 

‘ Just missed goin’ on to your pet spire, Joe/ 

The Irish soldier chuckled. 

‘ They’re havin’ a beanfeast down there, peltin’ us 
with shells.’ 

‘ We’ll return their hospitality in a minute or two. 
Jerusalem ! ain’t the Old Timer makin’ this jam-tin 
scoot along 1 ! Now, Bill Kaiser, here’s love an’ kisses 
from the British army.’ 

Snowy leant far over the side to get a good view 
as he spoke, and loosed a bomb. He didn’t waste 
time watching its flight through space, but deftly 
prepared for a second delivery. Joe, however, was 
watching. 

'• Be th’ saints, Snowy, how do yez do ut ? How 
do yez gauge time an’ flight an’ distance as ye do ? 
Ye’ve dropped yer bomb right in the middle av a 
mob av German helmets, an’ ye’ve splashed a lot 
av thim Boches in little bits about th’ adjacent coun- 
thry. Ye’re a wizard.’ 

‘ Make yer hand follow yer eye, an’ it’s easy,* 
was the sharpshooter’s only comment on his comrade’s 
eulogy. “ Swing her round a point or two, Old Timer ; 
that’s it, now easy does it.* 

McGlusky began to chant a hymn. 

Snowy sped the second bomb. 

* Somethin’ droppin’ from above for Bill Kaiser. 
Hope he gets it in person ; it’ll be a blessin’ in disguise ; 
but he won’t think so,’ remarked the famous Anzac. 
' Better scoot a bit up nearer the golden stairs, Old 
Timer ; we’re goin’ to hear from some of their big guns.’ 


58 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


Losh, eef ane o’ their big shells hits ye, Snowy, 
it’ll blaw ye through a rivet hole.’ Then, as he 
whirled upwards, he cried, ‘ Man Joe, dae ye see ony 
sign o’ their aircraft comm’ oop after us ? A’d like 
ta tempt ane or two into th’ empyrean f’r a fecht. 
A want ta ken hoo ma ship wull stand tlT racket o’ 
ma gun. Dinna be alarmed wi’ th’ contortions o’ ma 
ship ; A’m goin’ ta mak’ her wobble about a bit, like 
as if she was drunk, next time a shell bursts near us ; 
they’ll theenk we’re a lame duck, an’ coom oop ta 
capture us ; thin Joe, dinna forget there’s a few acres 
o’ hell uninhabited, an’ dae y’r best ta populate ’em.’ 

A big shell burst so close to them that the rush of 
air carried away Snowy’s broad-brimmed Anzac hat, 
and a small splinter cut McGlusky’s cheek, bringing 
a stream of blood. 

‘ Have they got you, Old Timer ? ’ 

As he spoke, Snowy began to cast loose the straps 
that bound him to the machine, in order that he 
might clamber to the Scot. 

‘ Na, buckie, na, it’s jest naethin’, somethin’ a wee 
bit hard like dinged agin ma lug ; haud fast, A’m 
goin’ ta wobble her.’ 

He let the machine sink a few yards, and then zig- 
zagging and wavering, he climbed upwards again ; 
then he swung her suddenly and made her lurch and 
stagger like a badly beaten horse, and finally careened 
so far over that Joe yelled : 

' Och, sorr, if uts all the same to yerself, wud yez 
move on a bit before yez tip us all inter space ; there’s 
a fince right below us now wid iron railin’s to ut ; 
Oi’m not ambitious to be spoiked loike er butterfly 
to a boy’s book.’ 


TWIXT EARTH AND HEAVEN 


59 

And Snowy chortled : ‘ Fer God’s sake, Old Timer, 
stop wobblin’ her ; you’d make a whale seasick.’ 

A snarl broke from the cast-iron Scot. 

* Weel, weel, A thocht A’d brocht twa men wi’ ma ; 
y’r no’ fit ta be oot o’ th’ nursery.’ ' 

Still, in deference to their wishes, he steadied his craft 
a bit, and made her go limping towards the British 
lines. So cleverly did he handle her that she looked 
from below like a badly stricken thing that would soon 
crack up, but if left alone might just manage to reach 
- friendly territory before falling. 

' She’s a dandy ; she’s behavin’ like a well-bred 
lady, Snowy,’ cooed Mac, his face, in spite of his 
wound, joyously alight like an eastern sunset with lots 
of red in it. 

* Is she ? ’ responded the sardonic sharpshooter. 
‘ Then I’ll never take a well-bred lady to church ; 
a shop-girl who knows how to walk as if she wasn’t 
half full of old rye whisky will do for me.’ 

' Here’s a German ship coming down the wind hell 
for leather, sorr,’ shouted Joe. 

‘ Dinna swear, Joe, dinna swear, it’s awfu’ ta hear 
ye, mon ; get y’r gun in han’ an’ blaw Windy Wullie’s 
folk ta blazes when A gie th’ word.’ 

* Here comes another, Old Timer, crossin’ th’ wind, 
an’, by gosh, there’s a third tryin’ to climb to get the 
sky-line of us.’ 

McGlusky swept his eyes round the horizon, and the 
lion light that his comrades knew leapt into his eyes. 

' A cud rin f’r safety an’ mak’ th’ British lines easy 
enough, buckies, but A ken y’r baith as eager as 
masel’ ta see just wha’ ma invention is capable o’. 
A’m only feared o’ yin thing, laddies : th’ material 


6o 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


A built her oot o’ is no’ new, an’ yon gun may shake 
th’ reeveets oot o’ her ; an’ eef it does, we’ll taste th’ 
beetterness o’ a whackin’. A’m glad Ginger is no’ 
here ; it wad be awfu’ tae ha brocht th’ wee mannie 
•ta his death.’ 

The two hardy soldiers shot glances at each other 
and grinned silently. His own life or theirs did not 
matter, but even in such an hour nothing was too 
''good for Ginger. Mac had been manoeuvring all the 
time ; now he spoke in his crisp battle accents : 

‘ Ye’ll tak’ y’r orders fra ma, Joe, an’ fire yon gun 
when A gie th’ word ; ye, Snowy, wull use y’r rifle 
when ye wull, an’ no’ wait f’r orders ; A ken ye know 
mair than A can tell ye aboot pickin’ men off at the 
richt moment, an’ which men ta pick, gunners or 
steersmen. Noo, Windy Bill Kaiser, ha’ at ye, th’ 
odds air jest richt, y’r three ta yin.’ 

He touched his levers ; the craft shot away at full 
speed, and the transformation from the lame duck 
to the rushing cyclone must have puzzled the Kaiser’s 
airmen not a little. Snowy was sitting, or rather 
lounging, as if half asleep, his rifle carelessly slQping 
across his knees ; a less imposing warrior it would 
have been hard to conjure up ; his eyelids had dropped 
until his steady, implacable eyes were almost hidden ; 
nothing about him suggested the reckless daredevil of 
the stern Gallipoli fighting. Now and again, as he 
chewed his tobacco, he sent a jet of juice in methodical 
fashion over the side; once, with a twinkle in his 
eyes, he sent some of it on Mac’s engine, and instantly 
there came a growl from the Scot. 

* Snowy, ye waster, gin ye dae that again, A’ll 
heave ma screw-wrench at th’ head o’ ye.’ 


TWIXT EARTH AND HEAVEN 61 

And yet at the moment three ships of the air were 
bearing down upon them, bent on destruction. The 
German craft that had been racing down the wind 
seemed to take the eye of both the Scot and the sharp- 
shooter. Mac suddenly shot a quick glance at Snowy, 
who nodded comprehendingly. These two had sniped 
Turks for so many long months together, separated 
by a few yards of distance in their hiding-places, that 
they had somehow established a system of eye tele- 
graphy conveying meanings without words. As Snowy 
received the veteran’s quick glance, he gave his right 
shoulder a kind of hunch as if to see that every muscle 
was in working order, but the indolence of his pose 
never altered. 

' Yon’s a mon worth ca’in’ a mon,-’ murmured the 
veteran ; then he flung his weight on a lever, and his 
‘ ship ’ careened until Joe thought he and his gun were 
going overboard, whilst Mac’s * ship ’ shot away on a 
new tack which brought the pilot of that German craft 
that was coming down the wind into such a position 
that Snowy could see him. Then the Anzac marvel 
moved, not hurriedly but with supreme swiftness. 
His rifle went up and cracked all in a second ; if he 
had aimed, he did it by some occult instinct. The shot 
satisfied him, for McGlusky saw the shadow of a smile 
creep slowly round the close-gripped lips. 

‘ Hell’s richer by yin,’ he confided to his engine. 

He asked no question of the Anzac ; he only looked, 
and Snowy nodded casually ; he had shot the breach- 
bolt back and discharged the empty cartridge case, 
and was watching for another shot. The German 
pilot had scarcely moved after Snowy’s rifle spoke ; 
his hands had just dropped from his machine to his 


62 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


sides, and his chin had fallen on his chest ; that was 
all, but there was an ugly little lilac splotch of colour 
in the middle of his forehead, as if made by an indeli- 
ble lead pencil. The German machine was running 
adrift ; her gunner had to take the pilot's place or 
court certain disaster ; he took a chance and crawled 
forward, and for a fraction of a minute he was visible 
to Snowy, and at that short range, short as the time 
was, it was more than enough. 

‘ Got him,' shouted Joe, as the rifle snarled. 

* Haud y’r yammerin',' snapped Mac. ' Snowy’d 
get a mon through a keyhole at that deestance.' 

' Look out, Old Timer, or that chap up above will 
get us,' was Snowy's contribution to the conversation. 

The German machine that had been climbing to 
get the drop on the British seemed to have reached 
an altitude that suited her commander, for he man- 
oeuvred to get right over the Briton. 

‘ That means bombs in a jiffey.’ 

This remark from Joe did not disturb McGlusky ; 
he was alternately watching the craft overhead and 
the one that had come across the wind, and he was 
handling his craft so as to keep the German from using 
his gun with effect. He had been zigzagging in all 
directions, yet there was method in every move; 
now slow, now fast, anon reversing his engines, he 
proved himself a master tactician, for the reputation 
of his beloved machine was at stake. 

* Ever play cricket, Joe ? ' drawled Snowy. 

* Oi did. Why ? ' 

' Well, be ready ter catch a bomb in a few shakes ; 
we’re goin’ ter get one.’ 

' Oi'd rather get out, an’— an' walk, if Oi was web- 


’TWIXT EARTH AND HEAVEN 63 

futted ; Oi wasn’t thrained on bombs. Ye make all 
yer jokes in a graveyard, Snowy.’ 

The machine up above suddenly poised itself like 
a bird arrested on the wing ; they could distinctly 
hear the reversal of her engine, and in that second 
of time Mac gave his engine all that was in it, and 
shot from under the overhanging Hun, and as he did 
so, down came a shower of bombs. 

‘ Glory be,’ gasped Joe ; ‘ if we was there this minnit, 
we’d be in hivin.’ 

‘ Would we, Irish ? Well, I think we'd be in 
fragments.’ 

McGlusky, working like a demon, let his comrades 
jibe at one another ; he rose high, dived low, swept 
in a circle, and the Hun on the lower level missed 
with his gun, and the one above failed to connect 
with bombs. The third Hun had long since sunk to 
earth. Joe was beginning to think he’d never have 
a chance to try his luck, for Mac had given him no 
order ; rifle and revolver bullets had come their way 
in plenty, but the luck of the game was with them. 
Snowy had a flesh wound in the thigh, and the blood 
was trickling down one of McGlusky ’s arms from what 
he termed ‘ a wee bit graze on th’ collar-bone.’ The 
Hun on the lower plane got weary of being out- 
manoeuvred, especially as it was obvious that Mac was 
manoeuvring his foes nearer and nearer to the British 
lines. Some signals passed between the two enemies, 
and then the lower machine made a rush to close in. 

‘ Noo, Joe, noo’s y’r chance ; dinna flurry, buckie, 
blaw her ta blazes.' 

Joe McNamara, wildest and most irresponsible of 
men in off hours, was congealed concentration in a 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


64 

real crisis. He did not hurry, but he wasted no time ; 
up and down, now rising a little, now depressing, 
moved the muzzle of his gun, until he got the range he 
sought. Mac, following the movements of the muzzle 
with hawk eyes, saw the gun sit still. 

‘ Away wi’ her ! ’ 

The next second, Joe's gun belched destruction, 
the shell tearing through everything for nearly the 
whole length of the Hun, sending her headlong to 
ruin, but the discharge and the recoil made McGlusky’s 
‘ ship ’ of scraps shake as if she had the ague ; rivets 
jumped from their places and the engine shifted on its 
bed, whilst her whole framework rattled and clattered 
like a rack full of dinner plates in a storm. Joe, who 
had flushed with triumph over the success of his shot, 
looked round with an air of amazement, and well he 
might, for McGlusky’s * ship ’ rattled from stem to 
stem like dry peas in a pod. A sardonic chuckle 
broke from Snowy, then his soft voice came low and 
distinct : 

* Good boy, Joe, you’ve blasted th’ Hun, an’ you’ve 
shivered us to pieces. Hope there ain’t a church 
spire beneath us.’ 

4 Sew y’r mooth up, Snowy ; come ta me, ye an’ 
Joe help rna haud this dom eengine in its place ; ma 
eenvention’s a gran’ success, na yin can deespute it ; 
gin A can haud th’ blamed ship thegither till A lower 
her in th’ Breetish lines, we’ll hae a pattern ta build 
by wull mak’ us masters o’ th’ air f’r all time. But, 
buckies, A’m dootfu’ ; A’m theenkin’ Joe’s gun ha’ 
busted ivvery reevet in her oot o’ ’ts place. We ha’ 
tried her richt oot, an’ it’s been a gran’ trial ; A’m 
more than satisfied, buckies.’ 


TWIXT EARTH AND HEAVEN 65 

' Och, an’ so am Oi ; f r th’ love av th’ saints, thry 
an’ let her down on a hay-rick ; Oi’m fed up wid 
experiments/ 

‘ Haud yer blether, Joe. Ye Irish ha’ na mechanical 
pride at a’ ; y’r only gude f’r fechtin’ ; ye’ll no’ ha* 
th’ honour o’ cornin’ wi’ ma on a trial trip again.’ 

* Ye can take yer oath on that, an’ divil a bit will 
yez perjure yerself,’ retorted Joe, whilst he and Snowy 
were clinging to the engine that was bucking about 
like a newly branded steer. 

Slowly they crept earthwards, behind their own lines, 
whilst the last of the Germans made off to report that 
the English had 'a new machine that rattled like a 
musical box, but was unbeatable in a fight, even 
against odds. Yard by yard Mac coaxed the groaning, 
quivering derelict nearer mother earth, talking to it, 
humouring it, blessing and blaspheming it all in a 
breath. 

' Wish Oi cud get him on a gramophone record now/ 
chortled Joe. f Oi’d go on th’ halls wid ut, an’ nivver 
wud Oi nade ter do another turn o’ hard work afther 
th’ war.' 

Fifty feet from the ground, Mac broke out into an 
adoring ecstasy of admiration. 

‘ Buckies, she’s just gran’, she’s a jewel, she’s great, 
she’s ' 

Then everything gave way at once. Snowy said 
afterwards her bottom tumbled out. Joe swore her 
sides caved in. Mac vowed her back broke. The only 
point they agreed on was that they came those last 
fifty feet in a hurry and landed hard. Snowy was 
pulled out of the debris cursing softly, but fluently, 
and when the padre asked him if he wasn’t ashamed 

5 


66 GINGER AND McGLUSKY 

of himself for using such language after coining out 
of the jaws of death, he replied : 

' No, padre, I’m not ; I’m goin’ to teach every word 
of it to my parrot when I get home to Australia. 
You’d swear yourself, padre, if you’d been up experi- 
menting in a jam-tin with wings on it, and — and a 
mad Scotchman for company.’ 

McGlusky had fared the worst of the lot : he had 
landed in an extra deep shell-hole, and Joe’s gun and 
part of his beloved engine had rolled on him. 

' Are ye busted, Old Timer ? ’ queried the Flamingo, 
who dragged the veteran tenderly into a sitting 
posture, with his back against a tree stump. Mac 
took time to think it over and explore himself, then 
he mumbled, for his mouth was clogged with gravel : 

' A’m no’ busted, Flamingo, but yon eengine was na 
saft ta fa’ on a body, an’ th’ gun was a wee bit hard ; 
it dinged holes all ower ma — ha’ ye seen Ginger ? ’ 


CHAPTER IV 

GINGER TURNS MALCONTENT 

W HEN Ginger had departed from McGlusky, his 
whole being was outraged ; two men had 
been preferred before him by the man he had so long 
idolized ; neither of those men was more experienced 
in aerial warfare than himself ; therefore, from his 
hasty and passionate viewpoint, McGlusky must have 
considered him less than they in point of nerve, 
courage and resource. He knew that mere brainless, 
bulldog courage did not appeal to the Old Timer, 
who, though a Berserk himself when the fighting fury 
was upon him, yet always kept a certain amount of 
artful canniness up his sleeve. The youngling in his 
hot and jealous rage did not pause to think that it was 
the Scot's great love and high estimate of his, Ginger’s, 
future importance to the world, that made him loth 
to risk a life so young, and in McGlusky’s eyes, so full 
of promise. The reason for the Scot's selection of 
the other two in preference to himself seemed plain to 
Ginger. 

' Och, Oi’m no good in a toight place ; he thinks 
Oi’m a quitter ; Oi’ll nivver spake to 'm again, dead 
or aloive.' 

* He had gone to his dug-out and packed his kit, and 
then, rifle in hand and bayonet on thigh, he had marched 

67 


68 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


straight to his old Gallipoli company commander, 
and reported himself for duty in the trenches 

' Thought you were with the Old Timer in the 
aerial service.’ 

' Oi was, sorr, but Oi wasn’t fit f’r ut ; didn’t loike 
ut ; me — me nerve wasn’t sthrong enough.’ 

‘ Never knew anything wrong with your nerve.’ 

‘ Ut’s gettin’ off th’ ground does it, sorr. Oi’m all 
right on me' feet, but Oi wasn’t built f’r a birrd.’ 

' Don’t think I’d fancy it myself, lad — did the Old 
Timer send you to me ? ’ 

* He did, sorr ; he’s got Snowy, an’ Oi’m ter do me 
best ter take his place sharpshootin’.’ 

The company commander, who knew the whole 
bunch of McGlusky’s little coterie of intimates, fixed 
steady eyes on Ginger. He had sampled that young 
man’s skill at dodging the truth in times past. 

' Funny game to put a chap at who has lost his 
nerve, my lad.’ 

9 Oi can’t shoot as well as Snowy or the Auld Timer, 
sorr, but Oi can run rings round th’ Flamingo, an’ 
he’s a sharpshooter.’ 

* Haven’t had a row with the Old Timer, have you, 
eh? ’ 

‘ Divil a worrd av a row, sorr ; he just said to me : 
“ Clear out to th’ trenches ; Oi’ve got th’ min that’ll 
suit me wid me machine,” an’ Oi’m here, sorr.’ 

* All right, get busy ; you know your way about.’ 

' Right-ho, sorr.’ 

As Ginger moved off, the company commander 
said to his veteran sergeant-major : 

' That kid Ginger has turned up asking for a sharp- 
shooter’s job — ripping fine little sharpshooter he is, 


GINGER TURNS MALCONTENT 69 

too — but there’s a screw loose somewhere : his face 
is as white as buttermilk, and his eyes are fighting 
mad ; just keep an eye on him, and see he don't 
do any damn fool thing. I’ll get the truth out of 
McGlusky later on.’ 

' Bet you didn't get it out of Ginger, sir, if he had 
anything to hide.’ 

‘ Know the little devil too well to waste time trying.’ 
Then with a swift laugh, for he and the sergeant had 
been schoolmates : ‘ Do you remember the yarn he 
pitched the provost marshal over two missing hams 
at Gaba Tepe ? ’ 

‘ I do ; I jolly well had cause to ; I nearly lost a 
stripe over that, for I was supposed to look after 
the shipment of hams ; I heard him give his evidence, 
and though I knew him, I’d have believed him that day. 
He was a statue of innocence — in front of the provost 
marshal.’ 

‘ I never knew the rights of it, sergeant. Did he 
loot those hams ? ’ 

' No, but he knew who did, and the lies he told 
cleared the looters. He — he lied like an angel, and 
the yarn he told about the Turkish prisoners who 
escaped, grabbing a ham each and bolting into the 
darkness, was perfect ; the way he told it an’ acted 
it for the benefit o’ th’ provost.’ 

‘ Perhaps it wasn’t lies after all, sergeant.' 

* Wasn’t it, sir ? Why, the young sweep hid the 
hams for the looters — an’ where do you think he hid 
’em, sir ? ’ 

‘ The Lord knows.’ 

* Right in the provost marshal’s own tent ! He 
crawled in, scooped a hole in the dirt, an buried cm 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


70 

there, an’ every time th’ provost marshal sat down to 
write dispatches, he was sit tin’ on ham, an’ didn’t 
know it.’ 

‘ The young swine. How did you find out ? ’ 

‘ Watched him. I knew he’d have his share of that 
ham if it was in camp ; he’s always hungry ; saw 
him creep into the tent and dig it up whilst the provost 
was at mess one night.’ 

‘ You never reported that capture, sergeant.’ 

‘ I didn’t, sir. What was the good ? I’d had my 
bullying for losing it, and the thing had blown over/ 

‘ Sergeant ? ‘ 

‘ Yes, sir.’ 

‘ What became of those hams ultimately ? ’ 

‘ I — I fergit, sir; never did have any memory f’r 
hams ’ ; and the sergeant went off to shepherd Ginger 
whilst the company officer watched him withtwinkling 
eyes. He knew the sergeant would bear no malice to 
Ginger over the old ham incident, for was it not the 
law and the dictum of the prophets amongst Anzacs 
that man might do many unlawful things to strangers, 
but the Anzac who betrayed an Anzac in ever so 
slight a manner, even if the other was his personal 
enemy, was a pariah dog and unclean at that ? Jg 
The old group were as busy filling heaven with 
Germans as they had of old time been busy making 
angels of Turks, when Ginger sauntered amongst 
them by way of a communication trench. 

‘ Hullo, birrd boy ! ’ shouted the Flamingo, and 
was so astonished by the reception his friendly greeting 
received that he put his head above the parapet and 
narrowly missed getting it shot off, for Ginger turned 
a white face to him, and let off a mouthful of bitter 


GINGER TURNS MALCONTENT 


7i 


language that was a disgrace to him, yet there were 
few people on earth whom Ginger liked better than 
the Flamingo. 

‘ Why — kid, what’s been bitin’ you ? ’ was all the 
Flamingo could say in response. 

‘ You sew your mouth up an’ let me alone. Which 
was Snowy’s pitch when he was here ? ’ 

‘ That shell-hole just beyond th’ trench ; it angles 
th’ German trench in front of us a bit, but you can 
only get in and out after dark, an' when you are in 
you’ve got to lie stiller’n a rat. Snowy made it so 
hot for the Boches from there, they’ve got a bunch of 
crack shots watching it, an’ some of those Boches 
can shoot — got one of our lieutenants right where 
you’re standin’ ten minutes ago ; he wanted to take 
a snap look at their line, an’ I’ll swear his eyes wasn’t 
above the parapet a third of a second before he got 
hit an’ went west.’ 

Ginger was looking at the shell-hole, and measuring 
the short distance with his eye, when a soldier known as 
Sunny Jim, a good-natured new arrival from Australia, 
whose description of himself was that his redeeming 
features were unfailing good nature and hatred of 
work, spoke up in a friendly, warning way, he being 
an utter stranger to Ginger : 

' New to this game, ain’t you, kid ? ’ 

Ginger took him in, boots and all, with a glance, 
and his lips snarled : 

‘ Yes, Oi’m new, an’ Oi’m feared near ter death ; 
Oi ain’t had yer expay rience av bloody war, but if Oi 
hev ter die, Oi hope Oi won’t take the mim’ry av yer 
silly grin wid me.’ 

■ Sunny Jim looked pained, and well he might, for 


72 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


Ginger’s reception of his friendly overtures was not 
cordial, to say the best of it. The rest of the bunch 
looked at Ginger in keen amazement and unqualified 
disapproval ; this was a new Ginger to them, and they 
preferred the old, laughing, gibing, prank-playing, 
singing pal of Gallipoli. 

‘ The Old Timer ought to give you a taste of his belt 
again ; it’d do you no harm,’ asserted one. 

A white, twitching face was instantly turned upon 
him, and a sneering, nasty voice said : 

* Och, an’ wud he ? There ain’t wan av yez that’d 
do ut — twicet — an’ him least av all.’ 

The padre, who had a habit of eternally poking 
about in the hottest corners, had heard pretty well 
all that had taken place. 

‘ Let him alone, boys ; something’s gone almighty 
wrong with Ginger, or — he’s possessed of a devil.! 

‘ He’ll get this devil kicked out of him before he’s 
back with us long, padre.’ 

The padre, in passing, gave the lad a hearty 
smack on the back, and cried in his ever cheerful 
voice : 

* Glad to have you back, sonny.’ 

' Oi can dust me own tunic, padre ; Oi’m not needin’ 
a lady’s maid yet, sorr.’ 

The sneer that accompanied the words brought a flush 
to the padre’s weather-beaten face, but his eyes were 
full of pain as he looked the young soldier squarely 
in the eyes. Ginger did not avoid the priest’s gaze, 
and what the padre read in the beautiful big Irish 
eyes made him draw a long, quivering breath. 

‘ Be aisy wid him ter-day, an’ patient, boys ; lave him 
ter time an’ * He threw his right hand upward 


GINGER TURNS MALCONTENT 


73 

in a gesture of such simple dignity that the wildest 
blade there was awed. 

‘ I didn’t think it was in the pup/ growled Fla- 
mingo. 

Ginger was still watching the shell-hole ; it seemed 
to fascinate him. Sunny Jim, who as usual was 
shirking work, butted in once more. 

‘ It’s no use lookin’ at that shell-hole ; Snowy’s th’ 
only man who could live there, an’ he only lived be- 
cause he was quicker ’n any Hun.’ 

‘ Ter blazes wid Snowy an’ you too. ' Wait till y’r 
weaned before ye give advice, an’ thin give ut ter thim 
that wants ut. You an’ yer Snowy ! ’ 

He sauntered to the end of the trench, where a 
broken quick-firing gun was standing on end, put his 
foot on it, and vaulted out of the trench and dived 
for the shell-hole like a rabbit for its burrow. Nothing 
saved him but the utter' madness of his exploit ; if 
he had lifted his head for a moment above the parapet 
to take a look before he leapt, he would not have lived 
a minute. The German sharpshooters had been used 
to dealing with a sane man, and an extraordinarily 
cute man in that shell-hole ; they were unprepared 
for an exhibition of lunacy, but as it was, Ginger 
had scarce flattened his lithe body in the shell-hole 
in his headlong dive, ere bullets cut the shell-hole 
edges at every conceivable angle. He did not attempt 
to move ; he just lay there; but his bitter gibes came 
floating to the British trenches. 

' Och, an’ indade, th’ great Snowy’s th’ only man 
that cud live here — thin Oi’m dead.’ 

* Ye will be if ye move an eyelid ; f’r th’ love av 
Mary kape still, Ginger dear/ 


74 GINGER AND McGLUSKY 

It was the voice of the Flamingo pleading almost 
piteously. 

‘ Yez lave me to ut, an' kape y’r mouth f’r y’r 
rations/ was the brutal retort. 

The sergeant-major came] on the scene , and he 
adopted no wheedling tactics ; he trusted to discipline. 

‘ Say you, Ginger/ he snapped, ‘ do you hear me ? ’ 

' Oi do, sergeant-major/ 

‘ Well, if you move, I’ll give you pack drill till your 
d — — back breaks. You lie doggo/ There was a 
moment or two of silence, and the non-com. whispered : 

‘ That’s fixed him — he’s too good a soldier to disobey 
an order.’ 

Then came Ginger’s voice freighted with a sneer. 

‘ Sergeant-major ? ’ 

' Yes.’ 

' Hev yez got any h-a-m ? ’ 

The whole trench exploded into a big roar of laughter 
at the non-com. ’s expense, for all knew the tale of the 
two hams. x Even the non-com. grinned, as he went 
down the trench keeping his wise head well below the 
parapet. 

‘ What did he mean about the ham ? ’ queried 
Sunny Jim who, not being of the old brigade, was in 
the dark. 

‘ You ask the sergeant-major,’ chortled ‘ Prospector ’ 
Brown, and again the trench chuckled. 

Ginger, in his long, shallow shell-hole, knew that 
for a long time he must not show as much as an eyelash ; 
he knew also that in time his exploit would reach Mc- 
Glusky’s ears, and he was keen to prove that he not only 
had as much nerve as the famous Snowy, but as much 
wit and resource as well. Turning carefully over 


GINGER TURNS MALCONTENT 


75 

on his back with his rifle beside him, he filled his pipe 
and lit it, looking up at the sky as he smoked, and as he 
looked he saw McGlusky’s aircraft fighting the three 
Huns. He watched the battle in the air phase by 
phase ; sometimes the airmen got out of his view as 
the circle of fight enlarged, but they came back, and 
as the unequal battle in the blue wore on, Ginger’s 
chest heaved, and he began to sob, for his love for 
the veteran was marrow deep. 

‘ Och, why did yez send me away from yez, sorr, 
loike a lame dog ? Oi’m as good as thim wans wid 
yez. Glory be, he’s got wan, ut’s cornin’ down.’ 

He shouted the last words, and an answering cheer 
came from the British trench where the men were 
watching the sky-fight gleefully. 

‘ Is it th’ Old Timer up there, Ginger ? ’ called 
Flamingo. 

* Och, pawn yer throusies an’ buy some sinse, 
Flamingo. Av coorse ut’s him ; who else cud foight 
like that but him ? ’ 

' That sounds a little more like our old Ginger, eh ? * 
laughed the padre to Flamingo. 

' Sounds good to hear him like that, padre. Wonder 
what bit him ; he was plumb mad a while ago.' 

By and by the air-fight moved its zone of action 
more over the German lines, and Ginger could not 
follow it, as it was out of his horizon ; then his quick 
wit began to work ; he knew the men in the British 
trench were watching the battle, because he could 
hear their remarks on its various phases, so he argued 
that the Germans would be watching also, and might 
therefore forget him for a time. He determined to- 
chance it. Inch by inch, with infinite caution, he got 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


76 

his eyes over the edge of the shell crater. No bullet 
pinged near him. He searched the enemy line carefully 
for a German sniper, and at last he saw what he searched 
for — a foe cunningly hidden from the British trench 
was visible to him from the shell-hole, a sniper, doubt- 
less. the man Snowy had tried to get and failed. Gin- 
ger’s hand crept slowly down and felt for his rifle. 
Slowly, an inch or two at a time, he drew it up until 
the supreme moment arrived when he must throw 
it forward and aim and fire. He knew it must all be 
done with one movement, and that he must get back 
to safety as quickly as a diver duck takes water, or 
be potted himself by some other sniper. He was 
-quite cool and collected now ; his rage against the 
man who he thought had supplanted him in the heart 
of McGlusky gave way to the all-absorbing passion 
of the man-hunt which makes tiger-hunting seem a 
tame pastime. He flung the barrel forward, fired, 
and the Hun sniper sprawled out of his hiding-place 
and clawed spasmodically at the earth, and Ginger’s 
head disappeared from view as a dozen bullets zipped 
past the spot where his red head had been shining 
like a glorified peony. 

' Good for you, sonny ; Snowy cudn’t have done 
it better,’ yelled the Flamingo. 

‘ Aw, Shnowy ! Yez make me tired wid yer Shnowy. 
Oi’ll bate th’ socks off av him before Oi come back to 
yer auld trinch,’ was the ungracious retort that Ginger 
flung back, and that remark let a little light into 
the quick brain of the padre, for he said to Flamingo : 

‘ Ginger’s jealous of Snowy ; he thinks McGlusky 
has jilted him, but I know better.’ 

* Why, Ginger used to love Snowy, padre/ 


GINGER TURNS MALCONTENT 


1? 


‘ So he does now; only he’s bursting with jealousy. 
It’s uncanny the way that boy worships the Old Timer/ 

There was a short spell of quietness in the German 
front trench, and then over came a bomb, hurled at 
the shell-hole where the young sharpshooter lay, but 
the distance was too great, and the bomb exploded 
harmlessly ; half a dozen others followed in quick 
succession, but none reached the lad’s hiding-place. 
Warning shouts told him what was going on ; he 
was on his back again, smoking his short wooden 
pipe and searching the skies eagerly for signs of Me- 
Glusky’s * ship,’ but the air-fight had drifted out of 
his very limited range of vision. One bomb, hurled 
by a strong and an expert hand, rolled pretty close to 
the shell-hole ; it was a time-fuse explosive, and as 
it rolled after lobbing, the Flamingo yelled : 

' Lie doggo, Ginger, doggo ! ’ 

‘ Och, bite yer whiskers off inside. Think Oi can’t 
play bow-wow widout you leadin’ me wid a sthring ? ’ 

‘ Don’t lift yer head, they’re trainin’ a machine-gun 
on yer shell-hole,’ shouted a strange voice. 

‘ Who’s’ spakin’ thim words av wisdom?’ jeered 
Ginger. 

‘ Sunny Jim,’ came the reply. 

‘ Och, is ut that veteran sojer ? Why are yez 
wastin’ yer wisdom on me, Sunny Jim ? Ye ought 
ter be at head-quarters enlightenin’ th’ commander- 
in-chief on what ter do wid his head.' 

A gurgle of laughter rippled along the trench at 
Sunny Jim’s discomfiture. 

* Don’t mind him ; th’ young beast’s in a divil av a 
temper,’ muttered the padre. ‘ I’ll put the gloves on 
with him the first time I get him behind the lines for 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


78 

this,’ and the men who knew what the padre could do 
with the gloves smiled and pitied Ginger. 

A minute or two later, the padre, with something 
wrapped up in the remnants of an old shirt, was bal- 
ancing himself for a throw. 

‘ Ginger ? * 

* Yes, padre.’ 

He knew all the voices of the old brigade as well as 
he knew their names and noms de guerre. 

1 I’m going to try and throw something to you ; 
if it lobs on you, don’t jump and expose yourself.' 

‘ If uts a testamint, Oi’ve no toime f’r readin’, padre. 
Oi’m — Oi’m study in’ German at prisent.’ 

Then the padre made his cast, and a parcel fell on 
Ginger’s stomach. Opening it carefully, he found a 
rough trench-made periscope, which would enable 
him to watch the Germans without exposing himself. 

‘ Got it, Ginger ? ’ 

‘ Yes, padre. Who made ut ? ’ 

‘ Sunny Jim — made it in one av his many abstrac- 
tions from duty.’ 

‘ Tell him to have two fits an’ — an’ make somethin’ 
useful.’ 

‘ You snarlin’ little baste, I’ll ’ 

‘ Thank yez, padre, f’r that exhibition av th’ soothin’ 
power av y’r religion.’ 

The padre’s reply was lost in the rattle of the Ger- 
man machine-gun that had been trained on the shell- 
hole, and for a long time it rained lead, but the enemy 
couldn’t get the required elevation to drop bullets 
into the shell-hole. Ginger had turned over on his 
stomach, and in spite of his derogatory remark^ con- 
cerning Sunny Jim’s handiwork, he was using the 


GINGER TURNS MALCONTENT 


79 


periscope, and as he explained later, his rifle, ' lay 
adjacent:’ ‘ Wan av thim squareheads is sure to have 
a peep whin the gun stops,’ was his comment, and one 
poor wretch did, and Ginger’s bullet bored through 
his face ; he had evidently forgotten that the shell- 
hole angled his trench. A whole-hearted hurrah 
rang out from the British. 

‘ Bully f’r you, kid ! ’ bawled ‘ Kurnalpi.’ 

‘ You can knock spots off the Flamingo sharp- 
shootin’,’ cried ‘ Prospector ’ Brown. 

‘ Aw, the Flamingo ! Are ye manin’ him that was 
crossed in love ? ’ 

The whelp heard the laughter this brutal sally pro- 
voked, but he did not see the flush of pain on the 
Flamingo’s homely face, or he’d have bitten the 
top off his too ready tongue. 

Just then the Germans opened rifle fire all along 
their trenches on the full length of the Anzac line, 
and in addition reserves in the same trench threw 
bombs ; they could reach the trench, though they 
could not quite reach Ginger’s shelter. Machine-guns, 
posted at points of vantage, spluttered lead. The 
British accepted the challenge and sent back bullets 
and bombs, and they threw their bombs better, as 
might have been expected from a race of cricketers. 
Ginger watched the fierce duel through his periscope, 
and then amused himself taking what he termed 
‘ wing shots ’ at any arm he saw hurling a bomb, and 
he made good practice. It was not often that he saw 
a hand and part of an arm above the opposite parapet, 
but now and again some enemy, carried away by the 
zest of battle, did expose a bit of his anatomy as he 
hurled a bomb, and on such occasions Ginger got busy. 


8o 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


No one knew better than he himself that he had not 
Snowy’s unerring instinct for a snap-shot, still 
he did not do badly. The fight was fierce whilst it 
lasted, but the rifle and machine-gun fire died down 
at length ; then the Germans, thinking to take the 
British by surprise, came over the parapet with the 
bayonet. They were very brave, those fellows, or 
very weary of life. Out blazed the British rifles, and 
few if any snapped faster than Ginger’s ; enemies 
who were racing forward with bombs ready to hurl 
into the British trench were his speciality, and at 
that short range few on whom he pulled the trigger, 
exposed as they were, travelled very far. The German 
rush faded away to a frazzle, and those who escaped 
bolted back to their trench, but as they turned to run, 
one of them hurled a bomb at Ginger’s shell-hole, and 
a heap of stones and dirt flew in all directions. As 
soon as the Germans had got to shelter again, the 
Flamingo cooed softly, but got no reply, so he called : 

' Are ye kilt, kid ? ’ 

' Oi am, Oi’m kilt an’ buried, an’ Oi’m listenin’ to 
th’ voice av an angel this minnit.’ 

' What are yez doin’, Ginger ? ’ 

‘ Faith, Oi’m pickin’ bits av gravel out av me ana- 
tomy, Flamingo, so don’t be axin’ ondacent questions, 
an’ ye’ll get no ondacent particulars.’ 

' He’s all right, don’t worry,’ was the padre’s com- 
ment. 

' How th’ divil did he escape that bomb, padre ? ’ 

‘ Since you’re on such familiar terms wid th’ divil. 
Flamingo, ask him, for I can’t tell you.’ 

By and by came Ginger’s voice again : 

4 Have yez a dhrop av wather ye can spare ? If ye 


GINGER TURNS MALCONTENT 81 

have, chuck ut to me, Oi’m most full av dirt. Oi loike 
France, but Oi don’t loike atin’ ut.’ 

Sunny Jim, who was nearest the end of the trench, 
picked up a stone bottle full of water and tossed it 
into the shell-hole, and the language that came from 
that direction told that Ginger had got it, or it had 
got him. 

' Cudn’t yez throw a canvas wather bottle ? Think 
Oi ain’t got stones enough druv inta me carcase by 
that bomb ? ’ A pause followed, and Ginger’s voice, 
full of sarcasm, demanded : ' What jaynius was ut 
pelted me wid a stone wather bottle.’ 

‘ It was me — Sunny Jim — I — I didn’t think.’ 

Back came the answer in a tired drawl ; 

‘ Och, ut was you, was ut ? Oi moight have known 
ut was th’ act av a — a veteran.’ Ginger took a drink 
and cleaned some of the dirt away, and again he 
began his gibing : ' Och, Sunny Jim, are yez one av 
twins ? * 

' No ; why ? ' 

‘ Oi thought yez was, because ye have only half an 
intellect.’ 

It would have taken worse jeering than that to 
upset Sunny Jim’s placid disposition, for, as the padre 
declared, a mule might kick him into a hole, but a 
team of mules couldn’t kick him into a bad temper. 
He held out a vocal olive branch almost at once to 
the sneering little sweep who was sharpshooting. 

‘ Say, Ginger ? ’ 

* Och, the veteran again.’ 

‘ Th’ C.O. was here just now, an’ he said you’d done 
fine ; said you was a better shot than Flamingo.’ 

‘ Give th’ C.O. me cyard, an’ thank him f’r nothing 

6 


82 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


Didn’t Flamingo make his reputation in Gallipoli by 
shootin’ a mule in mistake f’r a Tur-rk ? ’ 

A howl of merriment broke from the Anzacs of the 
old brigade, for in the very early days of Gaba Tepe 
Flamingo, waking one night from a half-doze in the 
trench, and seeing something move, had laid out a 
mule, and some wag had made a song about it, which 
the whole army corps sang until they knew the Flam- 
ingo better. 

‘ Ginger’s got a wasp under his tongue to-day ; he’d 
sting his own mother,’ was all Flamingo said in reply 
to the merry gibes his comrades levelled at him. 

By and by a watcher, peeping through a periscope, 
saw the Irish imp toss the offending stone bottle out 
of the shell-hole, and instantly three or four German 
bullets splashed against it. Then, in sheer bravado, 
the youngster, lying prone in his hole, began to sing. 
He improvised things concerning the Kaiser, and 
fitted them to Irish melodies, and there wasn’t a verse 
in the lot that the Kaiser would have had framed if 
he’d heard them. The Germans shouted back many 
things that were far from complimentary, for many of 
them had been in England as waiters in clubs and 
hotels, and the things they said concerning some 
British celebrities would have made a bushranger blush. 
Nothing daunted, Ginger sang the deeds of the Ger- 
mans in Belgium and northern France, the ravishing 
of vestals, the befouling of matrons, the butchering 
of babes, and the murdering of women and children 
at sea, and at the end of every verse he taunted the 
Germans with a refrain that reflected upon their 
courage as soldiers in action : ' Kamerad, Kamerad, 

give mercy to th’ Hun, we only butcher babies, Misther 


GINGER TURNS MALCONTENT 


83 


Atkins, here’s me gun. Kamerad, Kamerad, Oi’m 
me mother’s only son, Oi’ve no stummick f’r fair 
fightin’, an’ Oi’m too damn tired ter run.’ In the 
end the enemy turned a machine-gun on his shell-hole 
again, and Ginger was happy. After dark he wriggled 
along the ground and rolled himself into the British 
trench, and nearly succeeded in getting himself bayon- 
eted. 


CHAPTER V 

McGLUSKY IS BANISHED THE AERIAL SERVICE 



YING in a field hospital, not far from one another, 


1 J McGlusky, Joe and Snowy were comparing 
notes, after their aerial adventure. 

* Feel very bad, Old Timer ? * 

‘ No’ so bad, conseederin’, Snowy.’ 

‘ No bones bruk, Oi hope, sorr ? ’ This from Joe. 

' Na, na, buckie, naething wrang wi’ ma worth 
speakin’ aboot. A’ve yin lump in th’ sma’ o’ ma back 
aboot th’ size o’ a watter melon, an’ yin mair on ma 
head, an’ twa o’ ma reebs ha’ a bit kink in ’em where 
th’ gun fell on ma, an’ A’ve a few bums an’ bruises 
an’ bits o’ cuts, but naething tae fash aboot. Hoo’s 
it wi’ yersel’s, laddies ? ’ 

‘ Nothing wrong with me, Old Timer ; I’m in clover ; 
anyway, I’m in cotton wool from head to foot. Say, 
Old Timer, got any more inventions in your head, 
or did the landing shake ’em all out ? ’ 

‘ Hoo is ’t wi’ you, Joe ? A’m hopin’ y’r no’ tired 
o’ flyin’ ; y’r no’ a bad gunner.’ 

‘ Sorr ? ’ 

' Aye, buckie.’ 

* Oi’m nivver goin’ in an airship till Oi’m born again, 
an’ thin only if Oi’m hatched. Th’ air’s th’ place f’r 
birds, not men.’ 


84 


BANISHED THE AERIAL SERVICE 85 

* Weel, All be dommed ! A didn'a theenk a wee 
bit bump cud frecht a’ the ambeetion oot o’ sae gude 
a fechter. A’m theenkin’ ye young asses air ower saft.’ 

The padre came in and sat down for a chat, for all 
three adventurers were favourites of his. As soon 
as he satisfied himself that none of them were damaged 
beyond repair, he started a whimsical story, for he 
was far too wise in the ways of the world to try and 
ram religion down the throats of men of that kind. 

' Ha’ ye seen ma wee laddie ; ha’ ye seen Ginger, 
padre ? ’ interposed McGlusky. 

‘ Faith, an’ I have. Old Timer ; seen him and heard 
the limb of the evil one too.’ 

‘ Ye mauna misca' ma wee mannie, padre ; ye dinna 
unnerstan’ him ; he’s no’ a limb o’ Sautan ; he’s a noble 
wee soul.’ 

‘ Did you ever hear him curse ? I don’t mean just 
the silly swear words that men get into the habit of 
using, but real, blistering, bad cursing.’ 

* A canna say A ha’. Ginger is maistly varra discreet 
in his language ; noo an’ again he fa’s frae grace, but 
no’ as a habit ; there’s mair gude ta th’ square inch 
in that laddie than ye’ll find ta the square mile in 
maist men, padre.' 

A derisive grin strayed amongst the bandages on 
Joe’s wounded face, whilst a wink that had a volume 
in it was contributed by Snowy. 

* Ginger must have learnt a lot during the few 
hours he has been away from you then, McGlusky,’ 
murmured the padre. 

‘ Ye’ll no’ mak' ma believe ma wee mannie ha’ 
deesgraced himsel’, padre.’ 

‘ With his tongue and his infernal temper he has. 


86 GINGER AND McGLUSKY 

but he’s covered himself with glory with his hands/ 
* A ken weel ye never lee, padre ; y’r too brave ter 
lee ; but ye maun be mistaken/ 

Then the padre, who knew the big Scot was aching 
for news of the youngling, told of Ginger’s arrival 
in the trenches and of his deeds in the shell-hole, and 
he cut out a good deal that would have discredited 
the Irish lad. When the recital was over — and few 
men could tell a tale of heroism or humour as well 
as the padre — Snowy interpolated in his dry way : 

‘ Game little blighter. I know that shell-hole, Old 
Timer, and the man who went there in daylight and 
did what th’ kid’s done ought to have the V.C. an’ 
all th’ other bally fixings f’r adornin’ a soldier’s tunic. 
Always knew he was built right.’ 

‘ Oi,’ said Joe, ' Oi wish Oi'd been there ter take 
down thim songs he made up about the Germans 
durin’ th’ fightin’. Cud yez repate wan or two av 
’m, padre, or do yez disremember ’m ? ’ 

‘ I’m tryin’ to forget ’em, Joe, and if I ever hear of 
you asking Ginger to remember ’em, I’ll set ye a 
penance that will make ye wish ye’d never seen France.’ 

‘ A’m hopin’, padre, y’r no’ suggestin’ ma wee 
mannie was no' decent. He’s a gran’ poet whin th’ 
fit’s on him, an' A’m theenkin’ ye’ve mistook poetic 
licence f’r th’ ither kind o’ licence/ 

This came from Mac in a menacing growl, and the 
glances he shot at the padre were not friendly. 

‘ Let’s put it down to poetic frenzy, Mac, and say 
no more about it, but— I hope Ginger will stick to 
prose in the future.’ 

After the padre had taken his departure, McGlusky 
watched for the coming of Ginger, and as hours length- 


BANISHED THE AERIAL SERVICE 87 

ened into days, and the freckled face and red head 
•never appeared amongst the visitors, both Snowy and 
Joe noticed the hungry light growing fiercer and fiercer 
in the Scottish eyes, and when the time for visitors 
passed both soldiers saw the veteran lie for hours with 
knitted brows, glaring into space, and Snowy whispered 
to Joe : 

* When I’m mended and feel well, I’m going to put 
the gloves on with that kid.’ 

And Joe, who was next door to a professional him- 
self in the art of boxing, and knew what an artist 
the sharpshooter was, felt sure there were stormy 
days ahead for Ginger, and he rejoiced in the know- 
ledge, but McGlusky never again asked for news of 
his protege from any visitor, but took to religion and 
spent most of his time thereafter reading his old 
Bible bound in kangaroo-hide. One day the padre 
calling, found him asleep with the open book on the 
blanket beside him, and one big rough finger seemed 
to mark a text. The padre, leaning carefully over 
so as not to disturb the sleeping giant, perused the 
verse, and read the bitterest words that man ever 
penned : ‘ How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is 
to have a thankless child.’ The padre went on tip- 
toe, and Joe and Snowy, catching sight of his face, 
exchanged glances full of meaning. By and by Snowy 
said softly : 

' Ever see the padre box, Joe ? > 

* No.’ 

‘ I have.’ 

There was silence for a good while, then Snowy 
spoke again : 

* If you’re up on your pins before I am, Joe, you 


88 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


hunt Ginger up, and ask him what his idea of hell is. 
I'll bet my trousers he’ll tell you it’s a place with a 
priest and a pair of boxing gloves in it. I saw the 
padre thump the socks off a chap in Cairo for belting 
a donkey with three strands of twisted fencing wire, 
which he’d made instead of using a whip.’ 

* Bad cess to th' blackguard ! Was the donkey 
much damaged, Snowy ? ' 

' It was, it was cut all over, so was the chap who 
used the fencing wire — when the padre had done 
with him, ’nd there wasn’t a bit o’ skin left on th’ 
padre’s knuckles.' Then, as if following a certain 
train of thought, he continued : ' Joe, Ginger’s goin’ 
ter get what’s cornin’ to him ; th’ padre had th’ same 
look on his face just now that he had when he walked 
up to the big stiff in Cairo, and near shook his head 
off with a straight left that made th’ fellow’s nose 
look like a Dutch tulip after you’ve trod on it. Th’ 
padre can hit as hard as Les Darcy, only quicker — 
yes, Ginger’s goin’ ter get what’s cornin’ to him.’ 

And Ginger did. 

The padre met him coming from his dug-out. 

' A word with you, my son.’ 

That was all he said, but the words seemed to come 
from between his teeth, like grit. 

' Oi’m not needin’ spiritual comfort at presint, sorr.’ 

There was insolence in tone and manner, for Ginger 
had deteriorated sadly of late. 

‘ It’s not spiritual comfort I’m going to offer.’ 

' Oi’m not needin’ ad voice ayther, sorr.' 

‘ I’m not going to offer that.’ 

* What thin — sorr ? ’ 

* You asked me at Lemnos Island on our way home 


BANISHED THE AERIAL SERVICE 89 

from Gallipoli to give you lessons with the gloves 
when I had time — I have time now.’ 

Soldier and priest were looking grimly into each 
other’s eyes, both of the same blood, the same faith, 
and both bitterly angry. Ginger’s sneering voice 
came at last. 

‘ Glad you’ve so much toime — sorr, Oi haven’t.’ 

A cold smile flickered round the padre’s mouth ; 
his eyebrows went up. 

‘ Ah — a — coward.’ 

Then he turned on his heel. 

* Yez loi, padre or no padre.’ 

‘ What ? ’ 

The one word flashed out like lightning from a 
thunder-cloud. 

* Oi’m ready to prove Oi’m no coward — sorr.’ 

‘ Step this way then.' 

Ginger knew what lay in front of him, for he also 
had seen the padre deal with the brute who had ill- 
treated the donkey in Cairo, but he went, and he did 
not take any illusions with him. There was a little 
clump of trees behind the lines, which the padre used 
as a sort of chapel wherein he “ confessed ” those of 
his flock who sought grace before battle. It was a 
spot every soldier, Protestant or Freethinker, respected 
and treated as holy ground, so no one intruded as the 
pair moved in that direction. The padre threw a set of 
light gloves on the grass in an open space well screened 
from view by trees. They were old gloves that had 
seen much service. The padre removed his upper 
garments, and his spare, sinewy figure stood revealed. 
Ginger removed his top hamper and his spurs. The 
padre motioned him to take his choice of gloves, but 


go 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


the diabolical spirit of raillery was seething in Ginger’s 
brain. With a lofty gesture he declined the invita- 
tion ; his lip curled, and he said : 

* Yerself first, sorr, th’ Church takes th’ pick av 
everything.’ 

A quick glance the padre shot at him in reply. 
Then he bent his fine head as if to an emperor, and 
said : 

‘ I thank you for your courtesy — soldier — the 
Church will repay.’ 

They pulled on the gloves and faced each other, 
the padre with the superb ease which comes of perfect 
self-confidence, Ginger with the reckless air of a lad 
who knew he had as much chance of beating his 
opponent as he had of finding the North Pole, and 
yet meant to prove his blood. 

‘Sorr? ’ 

‘ Well ? ’ 

‘ Is ut a — a lesson, or a foight ? ’ 

A flicker of a smile twisted the padre’s lips at the 
mere thought of a ‘ fight ’ between himself, the perfect 
master of science, and this raw novice. 

‘ Ye shall judge of that at the finish — soldier — in the 
meantime do your best and your worst.’ 

The Irish lad did not fail to note that the padre 
had not once addressed him as ‘ Ginger ’ — the old 
familiar and friendly sobriquet of the trenches. 

‘ Ready — soldier.’ 

‘ Ready an’ waitin’, sorr.’ 

Bing — something that might have been a hive of 
hornets bent on business, shot from the padre’s left 
shoulder and landed on Ginger’s nose, and he sat 
down on the grass without the least ceremony. Lots 


BANISHED THE AERIAL SERVICE 91 

of men had sat down just like that under similar 
circumstances; even the great Jim Hall, Australia’s 
wonderful professional, had once done so. Ginger 
did not know this, and if he had, it would not have 
helped him very much. He felt for his nose with 
more loving tenderness than he had ever displayed in 
his life before, and was astonished to find it was still 
on the front of his face. Then he arose and his eyes 
were glinting. The padre seemed absorbed in the 
scenery ; he drifted forward as Ginger put his hands 
up, and without an effort — or apparent effort — he 
struck again, and once again Ginger’s nose and that 
magic left hand connected. This time Ginger meas- 
ured his full length on the grass. Both blows had 
hurt, but the perfect ease with which his punishment 
had been served out hurt more than the punches. 
He felt he was being treated with contempt, and the 
thought roused him to fury, as is the case mostly when 
a game greenhorn meets a master of ring-craft. He 
lay gasping for a full half minute, then he scrambled up 
and rushed like a tiger, letting go both hands as he 
travelled at his opponent’s body ; he made two big 
holes in the air, but he did not touch the padre, who 
had calmly side-stepped him, and stood in a musing 
attitude as if pondering over the frailty of poor human 
nature. As Ginger turned and saw the lean, indolent 
figure, and the calmly contemptuous face, he had a 
brain-storm — he rushed, and a long left hand like a 
section of an iron park paling brought him to a sudden 
standstill. He rushed again, and ducked his red head 
as he did so, and a right handed clip under the chin 
made him stand straight once more. But if he was: 
nothing else, he was game. He rushed a few steps. 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


92 

then with the nimbleness of youth, he leapt on one 
side, and then instantly hurled himself right against 
his enemy, and began pounding with left and right 
at ribs and stomach. But every swinging blow was 
stopped by a bony elbow, every straight half arm 
punch at the belly found a rigid forearm in the way. 
Do what he would, he could not break through that 
perfect guard, and the padre did not give back one 
inch ; he stood his ground and checked the storm of 
blows which Ginger’s perfect physical condition 
enabled him to rain in. The scientific defence crazed 
Ginger, but the half pitiful, half-mocking expression 
on the lean bronzed face of the padre nearly sent him 
amuck. A word slipped from between his clenched 
teeth ; it was not the sort of word you find on the 
head-lines in copy-books. Instantly a swift jolt 
under the chin sent him reeling back a yard, then a 
long left thudded on his lips — he repeated the word — 
and the blow was repeated too, and a calm voice said : 

‘ Soldier, it’s not manners to speak with your 
mouth full.’ 

Again in sheer defiance Ginger’s mouth opened, 
and his bruised lips framed themselves to utter the 
same expression, but this time he was knocked clean 
off his feet, and rolled over and over like a rabbit 
that has got the first barrel and got it good. 

' Had enough, soldier ? ’ 

Ginger’s cut and swollen lips writhed themselves 
into a grin. 

' Och, Oi’m only beginnin’ ter loike ut.’ 

The first gleam of good humour shot from the padre’s 
eyes, for of all things on earth, next to his religion, 
he loved gameness in man or bird or beast. 


BANISHED THE AERIAL SERVICE 93 

‘ Take your time ; I've an evening off ; and— soldier 
— I’m willing to devote it to your education.’ 

The unquenchable spirit of devilment in Ginger 
prompted his reply. 

‘ Och, sorr, me education’s goin’ on foine ; Oi’ll 
take a double blue soon, or — a black an’ blue.’ 

‘ I admire your thirst for knowledge, soldier, but 
not your discretion. Better take it whilst it’s warm ;; 
it’s worse with the chill off.’ 

‘ Och, an’ Oi’m not frazin’, sorr.’ 

As the last words left his impish lips, Ginger strug- 
gled up and renewed the utterly hopeless combat, 
and as Snowy with prophetic vision had foreseen, he 
got all that was coming to him, and perhaps just a 
bit over for luck, or future guidance. 

He dropped and lay absolutely beaten at last, and 
a better specimen of beaten fighter it would have 
been hard to find anywhere on this old planet. Then 
the padre brought lukewarm water and sponged him, 
and gave him a nip out of a flask that was the colour 
of good tea, but was brewed nearer Jamaica than 
China ; then, with the laddie’s head cradled in the 
hollow of his arm, he talked to him of McGlusky. 
He was a spell-binder, a word-wizard when he cared 
to talk, that padre, and he talked for that young 
private soldier’s benefit ; had he exerted himself 
on his own behalf nearly as much, he might have 
worn a cardinal’s red hat, but he was one of God 
Almighty’s few who forget self and think mainly of 
others. He took Ginger back on the wings of memory 
to the night when the brawny Scot had found him, 
a poor waif of a sea-port slum, and adopted him, and 
he walked in soul with Ginger and McGlusky along; 


94 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


the many paths of danger and tribulation the pair 
had trodden together, until he woke a pain that was 
worse than all the punches Ginger had got that day, 
the bitter pain born of the knowledge of ingratitude. 

' Och, sorr, why did th’ Auld Timer turn me down ? 
Oi’d have died f’r him — but he — he thought Oi was 
a coward/ 

' He did not, an’ deep down in th’ sinful heart of ye, 
Ginger, you knew he didn’t ; you were mad jealous 
of Snowy and Joe.’ 

‘ Sorr, Oi ’ 

‘ Don’t lie, Ginger ; you knew the man who had 
seen you climb the cliffs at Gallipoli on a wild-goat 
track in the starlight, to bring comfort to him when a 
prisoner, knew you were no coward.’ 

* Yez called me a coward yerself ter-day, sorr,’ 
gasped Ginger, snatching vainly at this shred of 
sophistry to save his face, as the Chinese say. 

' I did, laddie, and I lied when I said it, an’ I knew 
I lied, an’ I’ll do penance for it later.’ 

‘ Och, don’t, sorr.’ 

‘ Every man must pay the price of his own mis- 
doings to his Creator, laddie. I lied when I called 
you a coward, and I knew it, and — I’ll pay.’ 

' Sp did Oi, sorr,’ whispered Ginger, feeling for his 
nose, that seemed to have got round past his ear. 

‘ Yes, you paid, and paid up like a man — to me, 
but what about McGlusky ? He’s been eating his 
big heart out all the days you kept away from him.’ 

Ginger’s voice, thick and husky, came struggling 
through the dusk that had fallen : 

‘ Oi’ll throy an’ pay him, sorr. Oi’ve been a — a 
dog.’ 


BANISHED THE AERIAL SERVICE 95 . 

f Worse than that, Ginger, you've been a — a cur. 
I'm sorry to have to hit you now you’re down, but 
the greatest thing in this world is the truth ; the worst 
dog I ever saw wouldn’t have gone back on such a 
friend as McGlusky out of jealousy. Swallow your 
medicine, lad ; you’ve been the worst kind of a cur — 
the ungrateful kind.’ 

There was a long hush, broken only by something 
that sounded like half-strangled sobs from Ginger ; 
then a very penitent voice : 

‘ Padre ? ’ 

‘ Yes, Ginger.' 

* Will yez do me a favour ? Will yez boot me from 
here to th’ hospital, an' Oi don’t care if all th’ Anzacs 
see yez do ut.’ 

The padre bent, and in the gathering gloom his 
lips touched the lad’s forehead. 

‘ Go in peace, Ginger ; go back to the lines, and to- 
morrow you can call and see the Old Timer. I’ll fix 
that for you. My son, I thank God I’ve opened your 
eyes ; now go.’ 

Ginger, as he went, put his fingers to his face, and 
knew that one eye at least the padre had closed so 
that it wouldn’t open for a week, but he understood. 

‘ I had to do it that — way — for the sake of his sinful 
soul,’ murmured the padre. ‘ I had to batter the pride 
and stubbornness out of him — but he took his gruel 
like a man, and I — think — it hurt me more to give 
it him than it hurt him to take it.’ 

Two French soldiers who, lying on their stomachs 
amid the trees, had watched the whole episode, went 
their way thanking God devoutly that they had no 
Irish padre to lead them to the light. They discussed 


96 GINGER AND McGLUSKY 

the matter that night around a French bivouac, and 
a veteran Frenchman who listened said : 

* Pouf, you do not understand, you are children — 
what you saw, explains why the Irish never lose in - a 
fight or fail in a charge ; they dare not go back and 
tell their padres they have failed, so they go on and 
win/ 

When Ginger reached his bivouac, his body was 
very sore, but his heart was singing. The Flamingo 
caught sight of his battered face, and exclaimed in 
deep concern : 

‘ Howly Grail, Ginger, where you been samplin’ 
mules, eh ? ’ 

* Och, shut up, Flamingo, Oi’ve been in hivin.’ 

The Flamingo took another long look at the padre’s 
handiwork. 

‘ Been in hivin, have you ? Then, Ginger, th’ 
other place f’r me.’ 

But when he heard the merry laugh that rang out 
from Ginger’s sadly distorted mouth in response to 
this sally, he said to Sunny Jim : 

* Be all th’. saints ! Wherever he’s been, he’s found 
his soul again ; it’s our old Ginger come back to camp.’ 

‘ Bally glad of it,’ answered Sunny Jim. ‘ I didn’t 
cotton to the sample I had of the new Ginger.’ 

‘ Sweetest kid on earth ; not a bit o’ harm in him,’ 
was Flamingo’s explosive reply. 

' Oh, isn’t there ? ’ chortled Sunny Jim. ' Thought 
he was a rattle-snake in trousers when he was in that 
shell-hole.’ 

‘ Rattle-snake ? Ginger ? He wouldn’t hurt any- 
thing on earth, bar Turks an’ Germans.’ Then turning 
to Ginger : * Seen th’ Old Timer yet, kid ? ’ 


BANISHED THE AERIAL SERVICE 97 

A flush of shame floundered amongst the bruises on 
Ginger’s face at this query. 

4 N-o— not yet, Flamingo ’ ; then, in a pitiful attempt 
to make good in the estimation of the fine fighter 
who was cross-questioning him, he added, ‘ Oi’ve 
been waitin’ f’r a chanct ter do somethin’ agin th’ 
Germans, Flamingo, ter make me worthy ter go near 
him, but uts no use waitin’, Oi’ll never be worthy, 
so Oi’m goin’ ter see him ter-morrow.’ 

‘ That’s the ticket. Tell him about the shell-hole, 
an’ he’ll be satisfied.’ 

Sunny Jim, who always seemed to ask the right 
questions in the wrong place, wanted to know how 
Ginger got his face made like a landscape with all the 
pretty parts knocked out of it. 

‘ Och, Oi just got pokin’ round askin’ fool questions 
that didn’t concern me, an’ — an’ things happened,’ 
and the bivouac laughed, and decided that Ginger 
must have strayed into one of the adjacent villages 
and given the glad eye to a matron in mistake for a 
maid, and reaped a harvest accordingly ; and Ginger, 
with many grins, acquiesced, thinking one falsehood 
would serve as well as another. The truth he could 
not and would not tell, and he knew the padre never 
would, and by this means he established a reputation 
as a gay Lothario, which he neither desired nor de- 
served. 

That night Ginger planned how best he might 
make up to McGlusky for his recent display of vile 
temper. Plan after plan entered his fertile brain, 
only to be rejected as not half good enough for the 
occasion. Of one thing alone he was quite sure in 
his own breast : the opening of the hospital should 

7 


98 GINGER AND McGLUSKY 

find him waiting at the door. But man is often the 
sport of circumstance, as Ginger was to find to his cost. 
The night was half through, when furious fighting 
broke out, and soon the news came that the Germans 
were storming the front trenches in force. Then 
came the order to Ginger’s section to advance and 
help repel the attack. Out into the night the men 
swarmed, ready and eager for a brush with the bay- 
onet with the foe, for it had long been known to them 
that the enemy’s front line troops in their vicinity 
were the Kaiser’s much vaunted Bavarians, whose 
boast it was that they had beaten Russian and French 
troops whenever they had met them. Lots of these 
fellows could talk English, and often sent the taunt 
across ' no man’s land ’ from their trenches that they 
would drive the Anzacs in front of them like sheep. 
The answer had invariably been : * Come and try your 
luck, Fritz.’ Now at last they had come, not mere 
recruits learning the game of war, but veteran fighters 
who had marched across Poland at the heels of their 
gpd Hindenburg. Some of the Anzacs had learnt 
their trade against the Turks, and had learnt it well ; 
some had done much gallant fighting in France ; but 
many were raw, unblooded troops fresh from Australia 
and New' Zealand, and the enemy knew it, as they 
knew pretty nearly everything, thanks to their spy 
organization ; and being German they thought they 
could create a panic by striking in the night with the 
steel at the places where the raw troops were posted, 
knowing that nothing tries the nerve of unblooded 
soldiers so highly as a rush with the steel in the dark. 
In this case some order of the German high command 
must have miscarried, for the enemy had thrown 


BANISHED THE AERIAL SERVICE 


99 


his first onslaught at the real Anzac trenches, and the 
Bavarians were learning that the men who had stemmed 
the torrent of so many mad, fanatical Turkish night 
attacks, were not to be lightly handled. Still the 
Bavarians were in great force, and the Anzacs in 
reserve were called to the front with all speed. Ginger 
was on his feet in a moment, and as he girded on his 
bayonet and got the news from the Flamingo, he 
snapped : 

‘ Take us wid th’ steel — th’ damn cheek av ut ! 
Ter blazes wid 'em ! They’ll be thryin’ ut on th’ rale 
Irish next.’ 

For it was an article of faith, born of his breeding, 
with Ginger, that ‘ wid th’ spoons,’ as he termed 
bayonets, nothing born of woman could equal the 
Irish. 

Down into the trenches leapt the reserves, and 
away along the communication trenches towards 
the front line they scurried and now the star rockets 
arching from the sky, made the scene of conflict 
vividly visible against the surrounding darkness. It 
was an awful scene upon which the reserves gazed 
whilst they stood a few yards back waiting the order 
to get in and mingle with the fight. The Bavarians, 
relying upon their well-known, animal-like ferocity, 
were fighting like wild beasts. The slouch-hatted, 
long-limbed Anzacs, cooler, less noisy, but possibly 
fiercer than their foes, had met for a death tussle the 
gem of the German army. The waiting, watching 
men saw the thrusting steel, the deadly lunge with all 
a man’s weight behind it, the swift parry, which tried 
the sinews of the strongest wrists and arms, the miss, 
the lurch, the half struggle, and — the death thrust. 


100 GINGER AND McGLUSKY 

They saw men club their rifles and beat heads to pulp 
with one sledgehammer blow ; sometimes it was a 
soft, slouch hat that went down mid broken bone and 
blood, sometimes a spiked helmet. There was the 
horrible rasping of steel as strong men thrust together, 
and often both went down, and those who fell like 
that were down to stay. Shouts and yells of both 
nations filled the chambers of the night with hideous 
sounds ; rifles cracked, not in regular cadences, as 
when companies volley, but as individual fingers 
found time to touch trigger. It was an inferno, but 
it was Homeric, and many a warrior wrote his own 
epic with the steel, and those who blundered wrote 
their own epitaphs. 

The Flamingo tore his eyes from the sight, and 
turned to say something to Ginger, only to find the 
lad had slipped from his side ; the last Flamingo had 
heard from him, he had shouted : 

' Och, th’ Auld Timer wud be worth three min in 
this mess-up, be gosh he wud.’ 

Flamingo glanced down to see if a stray bullet had 
got the youngling, but at that moment Ginger was 
squirming his way past wounded men in the last com- 
munication trench, and was within a few feet of the 
fight. He said afterwards in reply to his company 
sergeant-major : 

* Faith, Oi saw a vacany f’r wan in front, an’ Oi tuk 
ut. Oi was toired av bein’ part av th’ scenery,’ which 
was all right, as the advance reserves had orders to 
use their own initiative and get into the fighting as 
occasion served, but not to crowd in and hamper their 
comrades movements. The non-com’s were supposed 
to direct the advance of these reserves in the main, 


BANISHED THE AERIAL SERVICE ioi 


and so when, after the bitter battle, Ginger made the 
above explanation, the sergeant-major replied : 

‘ Well, kid, let it go this time, but if you do it again, 
I’ll — I'll boot you.’ 

It was well for Kurnalpi that Ginger had ‘ seen a 
vacancy and taken it,’ for just as the lad arrived 
on the scene of action, Kurnalpi had thrust with his 
bayonet at a private, and the Bavarian had grabbed 
the steel with both hands, to the detriment of his 
fingers, and as this occurred a German officer stepped 
up and lifted his revolver to Kurnalpi’s head, but 
Ginger, firing from his hip, had, as he picturesquely 
put it later, ‘ blown a lot av th’ officer’s helmet away, 
an’ some av his head wint wid ut.’ Kurnalpi, out of 
the tail of his eye, saw who his rescuer was, and grunted, 

‘ Oh, you, is it ? ' and went on with his work — and 
ghastly work it was, for Kurnalpi was a white savage . 
in a bayonet action. Ginger’s description of him being, 

‘ Kurnalpi’s just a misfit f’r hell at th’ best av times, 
but wid th’ bayonet he’s ondacent ; he gets familiar 
wid every part av an inemy, ayther front, or — or 
beyant.’ 

It was a long and stubborn fight, and Ginger soon 
forgot Kurnalpi ; he was too busy looking after such 
of the enemy as he came personally in contact with, 
and in taking a certain amount of care of himself. He 
was Irish from the soles of his feet to the tips of his 
flaming hair, and every inch of Irish in him thrilled 
to such a fight as this, and the greatest master of the 
bayonet in the wide world had taught him every trick 
of the trade, and there are more tricks in a bayonet in 
the hands of an expert than in a menagerie of monkeys. 
Ginger did not know it, but every now and again he 


102 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


sent his lovely singing voice above the roar of battle 
in the line of a song, and the song was always the 
same, the rebel Irish song the drunken cobbler had 
taught him before he could barely run. It came from 
his subconscious brain, as a very learned philosopher 
explained to him long afterwards, to which Ginger 
replied : 

f Bedad, thin, perhaps that explains me father’s 
fondness f’r other min’s mutton ; perhaps that’s why 
he stole shape in Oireland an’ got gaol for ut ; he wasn’t 
a thafe afther all, glory be, he was a subconscious un- 
rectitudinarian,’ a point of view that rather upset 
the philosopher who happened to own many sheep 
in Ireland, and had a weakness for eating his own 
mutton. 

The Bavarians made a. stubborn fight of it before 
they admitted themselves beaten, and made for safety, 
and the following morning Ginger, who was in the 
first line of defence, hung a sign over the parapet, 
which read : ' Anzac pleasure-grounds — warm welcome 
ter visitors,’ to which the Bavarians replied with a 
signboard saying : ‘ We called and left a card, return 
our call and hear our band play.’ 

Little pleasantries of that kind became common. 
One optimistic Bavarian hurled a jam tin containing 
a note in perfect English, stating : ‘ Our Kaiser will 
celebrate his birthday in London.’ To which Ginger 
added, ‘ Yes, whin oysters are hatchin’ in hell,’ and 
hurled it back. A German with a fine baritone voice, 
who had evidently been an operatic star of some 
magnitude before the war, sang a jovial song of love 
and moonlight kisses, and the whole Anzac line ap- 
plauded, shouting ‘ Encore, Fritz, encore ! ’ A laugh- 


BANISHED THE AERIAL SERVICE 103 

ing voice from the German trench shouted back : 

' No, no, its your turn now, Anzacs ; give us some- 
thing with a kangaroo in it/ 

‘ Didn’t yez have all th’ kangaroo yez wanted last 
night, Fritzy ? ’ yelled Ginger. 

‘ Was that kangaroo you gave us for supper when 
we called, sonny ? ’ 

‘ Ut was/ 

‘ One meal a day of that sort will do, thanks/ came 
the cheery answer, and both front trenches roared. 
After a bit a German voice queried : 

' Say, Anzacs, can't you sing ? ’ 

* Got a kid here can knock spots off anything you’ve 
got,’ roared’the Flamingo. 

' Let’s have a sample of him, then.’ 

Instantly there rose a shout of ‘ Ginger — Ginger.’ 

* Sounds like hot stuff,’ chortled the German voice. 

Ginger cleared his throat, and his exquisite voice, 

loaded with quips and quirks of his own birdlike fancy, 
trilled, ‘ When the Bright May Morn is Shining.’ The 
applause from the enemy trench was spontaneous 
and full-throated, so Ginger gave them ‘ Sally in our 
Alley,’ and even Santley in his best days could scarce 
have rendered it with more artistic skill. 

' Say, Anzacs, where did you catch that canary- 
bird ? Do they grow wild over your way ? ’ 

It was the voice of the enemy singer that called the 
question. 

' Got a few of our own, Fritz, but this wan came 
from th’ place where th’ shamrocks grow,’ replied 
Flamingo, and so the game went on for a little time, 
and no one would have dreamed that those men had, 
only a few hours before, been locked in a grapple of 


104 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


wounds and death, and would soon be again. It was 
what McGlusky in one of his philosophical moods 
described as ‘ One o’ th’ complexities o’ human nature 
as revealed by th’ lantern light o’ bluidy war.' 

Days went by before Ginger could get leave from the 
trenches, for it was expected by those in authority 
that the crack Bavarian corps would not rest at all 
content without having a try to remove the smirch 
on their prestige caused by the severe reverse in the 
night attack. But as soon as he got free, he made 
a beeline for the hospital, and met Snowy and Joe 
walking rather weakly, and looking very downcast. 
Snowy's sarcastic drawl brought a vivid flush to 
Ginger’s face. 

‘ Don’t rush yourself to death, kid ; you’ve been 
in such an almighty hurry to get here, you’ll have the 
provost marshal after you for exceedin > the speed limit 
on foot.’ 

For once the youngster had no reply ready to his 
tongue ; he stood abashed in the presence of the two 
warriors who knew of his desertion of his benefactor, 
and he saw that he had fallen to zero in their estima- 
tion. 

‘ Oi’m goin’ ter see th’ Auld Timer,’ was all that he 
could utter. 

‘ Where ? ’ 

‘ In th’ hospital.’ 

‘ He’s not there.’ 

A great fear gripped Ginger’s heart. 

‘ Snowy, f’r the love av hivin— don’t tell me he’s— 
he’s ’ 

The sharpshooter remembered the wrong McGlusky 
had done the boy in the first place by turning 


BANISHED THE AERIAL SERVICE 105 

him down over the flying experiment, and he relented 
a bit in his favour. 

‘ No, he’s not dead, kid.' 

‘ What is ut, thin ? ’ 

* He’s missin’.’ 

^ ‘ Oi’m not understandin', Snowy.' 

Then the sharpshooter told him all that had taken 
place in the hospital, adding : 

‘ He waited, an’ waited, watchin’ th’ door f’r a sight 
o’ your ugly mug, and th’ day before yesterday, when 
we woke up, his bed was empty ; he'd taken his hook 
in the night — deserted.’ 

A low snarl broke from Ginger. 

‘ Him ? Deserted ? An’ the inimy close up ? 
May yez stew in y’r own grease till Judas finds repin- 
tance f’r that lie, Snowy.’ 

‘ That’s what they’ve marked up against his name, 
kid.’ 

Ginger’s face was as white as a good woman’s soul, 
for he knew the seriousness of such a charge in 
the presence of the enemy. His voice was thick with 
pain and passion. 

* Snowy, uts a lie — Oi’d say ut was a lie if th’ angels 
in hivin wrote ut across the sky.' 

‘ They may shoot him f’r it all th’ same, kid, when 
they find him ; all sorts of staff officers have been round 
to see him about that invention of his ; he’s explained 
it, but there’s something they can’t catch on to, and 
they’re drawin’ maps of it an’ makin’ plans ; they 
want that machine in a big hurry to offset a new one 
the Germans have, and at th’ critical moment he takes 
his hook — he’d have got his commission for that inven- 
tion if he’d sat tight, and now ' 


io6 GINGER AND McGLUSKY 

‘ Who’s th’ officer who’s doin’ th’ plans, Snowy ? * 

The sharpshooter told him. 

‘ Oi’m goin’ to him. Oi know that auld machine 
as well as the Anld Timer did ; Oi lived wid ut, slept 
wid ut ; Oi was proud av him over ut ; Oi know ivery 
damn bolt an’ nut an’ curve an’ line in ut ; ofte^i 
whin he was asleep Oi crawled all over ut, oilin’ ut, 
shcrewin’ up a nut, polishin’ an’ scrapin’ an’ cleanin’, 
an’ whin he wanted somethin’ f’r ut he hadn’t got, 
Oi wint to th’ workshops beyant th’ C.O.’s tent an’ 
prigged ut f’r him, an’ hid what Oi prigged among his 
things where Oi knew he’d be sure ter find ut, an’ 
whin he did, he’d say : “ Ginger, A ken weel th’ han’ 
o’ proveedence is helpin’ ma wi’ ma ship, f’r th’ things 
A need come ta ma in a maist meesterious way.” If 
he’d heard th’ engineers an’ fitters in th’ shops cursin’ 
whin they missed things, he wouldn’t have been so 
sure av th’ hand o’ providence, an’ — an’ th’ noight 
before he turned me down Oi begger a wee bottle av 
howly wather fr’m th’ padre an’ Oi sprinkled ut on 
his ship f’r luck, an’ now — wirra — wirra, Oi’m ’ 

* Did the padre give you the bottle of holy water 
Ginger ? ’ 

‘ Well, he didn’t exactly give ut me Oi begged f’r ut, 
an’ he seemed doubtful, seein’ th’ Auld Timer isn’t 
av the faith, an’ ’ 

‘ Well, kid ? ’ 

‘ Ut got mixed up wid me box av matches in th’ 
padre’s dug-out ; it was near dark in there, Snowy, an’ 
— an’ somehow ut came away wid me in me pocket.’ 

The sharpshooter put an arm around Ginger’s neck 
and nearly choked him with a hug. 

‘ You may be unleavened sin, kid, but, by gosh, y’r 


BANISHED THE AERIAL SERVICE 107 

unleavened love too — prigged holy water to bless tlT 
machine. Y’r a Holy Roman — when y’r anything, 
but I believe you’d prig th’ Vatican to help th’ Old 
Timer.’ 

‘ Pooh — you an’ y’r Vatican, Snowy, Oi’d — Oi’d 
prig the Pope.’ 


CHAPTER VI 

GINGER IN THE HANDS OF THE GERMANS 



HEN the three friends parted, it was on the 


understanding that Joe and the sharpshooter 


should try and get on the track of McGlusky, whilst 
Ginger was to try his fortunes with that officer who 
was making the plans of the new airship. 

' Don’t tell him any lies, Ginger ; stick to the truth,’ 
warned Joe. 

‘ Oi nivver tell a lie whin th’ truth will do,’ retorted 
Ginger, and Snowy grinned until his ears flapped. 

‘ Ever in Holland, Joe ? ' 

' Oi was. Why ? ’ 

' Ever see th’ tulip beds in bloom round Haarlem ? ’ 

‘ Yes. Why ? ' 

‘ Looks like a rainbow rolled flat, don’t it, eh ? ’ 

4 Well, what av ut ? ’ 

‘ Nothing, only a Haarlem tulip field in full bloom 
is a fool to the yarn Ginger will pump into that staff 
officer, and all the brightest and best colours in Gin- 
ger’s yarn will cluster round the name of th’ Old 
Timer. I’ve seen the kid spread himself before to-day. 
My mother died before Ginger was born, but if I lent 
him her portrait and a lock of her hair, he’d make 
me believe he played marbles with her on St. Kilda 
beach, if he wanted to. All we’ve got to do is to 


108 


IN THE HANDS OF THE GERMANS 109 

find the Old Timer ; Ginger will get him out of serious 
trouble with the staff.' 

‘ Don't see how he will, Snowy ; I'm a pretty good 
single-handed liar myself, for a pal, but ’ 

‘ You ! ’ sniffed Snowy. ‘ You're a child, Joe. I can 
see your lies cornin’ round a corner in th’ dark, but 
Ginger's an artist ; he never lays his colours on too 
thick ; his lies creep on to you like the coming of dawn 
when you’re on sentry-go ; if he only had an educa- 
tion, he'd make the finest diplomat in Europe.' 

‘ What’s diplomacy boiled down into English, 
Snowy ? ' 

‘ It’s the art of lyin' like a gentleman, Joe.’ 

* Gentlemen don’t lie. Snowy.’ 

‘ Don't they ? Then the Psalmist wasn't a gentle- 
man, for he said, " All men are liars." ' 

‘ What about women, Snowy ? ' 

The dry saturnine smile of his kind curled the 
sharpshooter's thin lips. 

‘ Women, Joe — you ask the Psalmist ; he forgot 
to mention them, or perhaps he was married and 
wasn't game. Men are always squealing about 
women’s lies — in books, but if I had a wager with the 
devil, I’d stake my soul more men have been saved 
by women's lies than were ever hurt by them. Joe, 
you take this tip from me : a woman lies oftener by 
keeping her mouth shut than by opening it, and nearly 
always it’s the woman who pays ; my own impression 
of men in the lump is they are curs — I don’t mean in 
a fight — any damn fool thing in trousers can an’ will 
fight, but in the things that matter. Why, Joe, in 
the next twenty years women are going to jolly well 
run the world, and the world will be the better for 


no 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


the change. Man’s the most selfish bully on this old 
planet. When God Almighty planned this old uni- 
verse, He ought to have ordained that when a wife 
had a child, the husband ought to have had a pram 
to lug it round in, or else made the sexes change 
places every five years.’ 

' If He had,’ said Joe, ‘ I’d have stayed home the 
five years I was a man, and gone fightin’ th’ five I 
had to be a woman.’ 

‘ So’d most of us, Joe.’ 

' Didn’t know. till now you was such a woman lover, 
Snowy — wonder you ain’t married.’ 

‘ Me ? ’ The thin lips curled sardonically. ‘ Me, 
Joe ? — no good woman’d look at me, an’ I’m not 
such a damn fool as to want the other sort for keeps.’ 

So chatting and exchanging views, they marched 
towards a village that lay snugly in a sheltered spot 
well behind the lines. 

‘ What makes you think we’ll find th’ Old Timer 
among th' Frinch ? ’ demanded Joe. 

‘ Dunno ; got a hunch we’ll hear of him if we don’t 
find him ; when he’s hard hit he only has two trails 
t’ follow : one’s religion, ’nd one’s fire water. I’ve 
a hunch that it’s not a religious trail he’s on this time, 
and we’ve got to get him back to the lines somehow, 
and leave the rest to th’ wee image, an’ we can fall 
back on th’ padre to help.” 

Ginger in the meantime had sought out the officer 
who was responsible for the making of the airship 
plans, and having found him, he boldly presented 
himself, trusting to his mother wit to pull him through. 
It was a very irate officer whom he confronted, and 
the greeting he got was not soothing. 


IN THE HANDS OF THE GERMANS hi 


‘ Well, what do you want ? ’ 

‘ Oi’ve just come from th’ trinches, sorr, where we've 
been knockin’ Ballyhooly out av thim Bavarians. Oi 
was tould yez was makin’ a map av our machine, an’ 
Oi thought Oi might be useful to yez, sorr.’ 

Our ” machine ? Whose machine ? ’ 

‘ Th’ wan me an’ th’ Auld Timer invented betwane 
us, sorr.’ 

* You mean the aircraft that beat the altitude 
records and whipped three Germans ? ’ 

‘ That same, sorr.' 

* What had you to do with it ? ’ 

Ginger put on a look of pained surprise. 

‘ Me, sorr ? Why,- all th’ war correspondents know 
Oi was th’ rale inventor.’ 

' I saw something about that in one of the news- 
papers, but I thought the veteran did the inventing.’ 

‘ Och, no, sorr; Oi can bate him blind at inventin’.’ 

* Where is he now — do you know ? 

* Only th’ good Saints know that, sorr. Oi’m 
thinkin’ some av thim hospital orderlies want shootin’.’ 

‘ What for ? ’ 

‘ Fer not watchin’ him betther, sorr. Oi’m feared 
he’s lyin’ dead in wan av thim fields beyant, an’ him 
th’ gran’ man — ut’s a shame, sorr.’ 

‘ What was wrong with him ? ’ 

' Fits, sorr ; a dog bit him in Cairo, not a mad dog, 
but wan wid fits caused by the sun, an’ whinever 
he has throuble, ut brings on wan av thim fits, an’ 
he’s no more responsible f’r what he does than th’ dog 
av Agypt that bit him.’ 

‘ Did he have any trouble lately besides the smash- 
ing of his machine ? ’ 


112 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


* Throuble ! ’ Ginger’s wonderful eyes rolled in his 
head. ‘ Ye may well ax it, sorr ; he was brimful av 
throuble, an’ sorra th’ day, ut was meself that was 
at th’ bottom av ut. If Oi only hadn’t writ that 
letther to him ! ’ 

‘ What letter ? ’ 

‘ The wan tellin’ him his only son was dead av his 
wounds in — in Lemnos, an’ him an’ his boy parted in 
anger — Och, it was meself that was a blamed fool an' 
deserve kickin’.’ 

‘ You do ; but — can you put me right about this 
machine ? ’ 

' Oi can, sorr.’ 

Ginger lifted his eyes as he spoke, and saw the padre 
gazing fixedly at him, and knew his lie had been over- 
heard, but his graceless spirit would not be quelled, 
and he threw the good padre a wink that besought 
silence. The officer went to find his drawings, and 
the padre took the imp by the collar. 

* You young liar ! McGlusky never had a son.’ 

‘ Wrong f’r you, padre, he had.’ 

' He isn’t dead, and didn’t die of wounds at Lemnos, 
you — you spawn.’ 

‘ Cud yez take yer oath on th’ book on that, padre ? ’ 

* N-o, but ’ 

4 There are some things,’ remarked Ginger loftily, 

' some things a padre shudden’t meddle wid, an’ wid 
all respect, sorr, this is wan av thim.’ 

‘ Did a crazy dog bite the Old Timer in Caire, 
you ’ 

‘ Oi was excited at th’ toime, padre ; perhaps ut 
was a goat ; but ’ 

The toe of the padre’s boot ended the sentence, and 


IN THE HANDS OF THE GERMANS 113 

Ginger had just picked himself up from the far end 
of the dug-out when the officer returned with his roll 
of drawings. 

‘ Hullo, what were you after down there, eh ? ’ 

‘ Glow-worms, sorr,’ answered Ginger. * Oi’m makin’ 
a collection av thim, sorr.’ 

The padre went out, and as soon as his back was 
turned his face broke into a grin that made him look 
very human. 

‘ The little lump of unleavened sin ! ’ he muttered. 
‘ I don’t wonder th’ men love him.’ 

In half an hour Ginger had put the officer right ; 
the defect in the plan had been caused by breakage 
in a part of McGlusky’s machine, which was vital to 
it’s success, and as the parts had been badly smashed 
and mixed up, only some one familiar with the original 
could have explained it. Before he left, Ginger put 
in an earnest plea for the Old Timer. The officer’s 
eyes twinkled. 

‘ What do they call you in the ranks ? ’ 

* Ginger, sorr.’ 

‘ Well, Ginger, where did that mad dog come from 
that bit your friend ? ’ 

‘ Oi dunno, sorr.’ 

* I think I do ; that kind is generally kept in a little 
black bottle and ought to be labelled “dangerous”; 
but since you’ve helped me out, why go and find your 
friend and take him to the lines ; can’t have people 
in the aeriaT service who’re subject to fits. Now 
clear out, and tell your friend — when he’s sober — 
that you’re the best “ inventor ” off your own bat I 
ever met — march.’ 

With his slouch hat cocked at an unholy angle, and 

8 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


J14 

whistling a merry lilt, Ginger marched at the double 
in search of Snowy and Joe. Soldiers coming back 
from the village f put him wise ’ to their whereabouts, 
and it was not long before he came upon them in the 
midst of a small crowd of French folk crowding round 
a cabaret. McGlusky was seated on the end of a 
table on the verandah, a bottle in one hand, a mug 
in the other ; he was holding forth with drunken 
dignity in English to the French folk on the folly of 
intemperance. They couldn’t understand more than 
a word here and there, but Mac was too far gone in 
his cups to know this, or to care. The landlady, a 
rotund person whose waist Goliath couldn’t have 
spanned, came to Mac and playfully tried to get the 
black bottle away from him, whereupon he promptly 
wound one arm as far around her as nature would 
permit, and laying his head upon her shoulder offered 
his heart and hand and the glory of his name. She 
knew enough English to appreciate her conquest, 
and her jolly laugh, accentuated by the rolls of fat in 
her double chin, rolled out gleefully. She called him 
a ‘ droll,’ and when he saluted the cheek that was 
nearest him with a smack of the lips that sounded 
like the slamming of a garden gate, her fat sides fairly 
shook with merriment, but she was cunningly edging 
the black bottle away from him all the time, for the 
rough soldier who had been drinking so hard all the 
while he had been under her roof had won her good 
will, he had said no word to hurt the feelings of 
maid or matron, drunk as he had been and was, and 
had not been quarrelsome in his cups, even when 
Jacques Codint, a soldier of the line, had been rude to 
him, and Jacques could have walked under his arm ; 


IN THE HANDS OF THE GERMANS 115 

all McGlusky had said in reply to the rudeness was : 

‘ Gang y’r ways, wee mannie. A’m no’ fechtin’ wi’ 
ma allies, but gin ye mak’ ma angry, All mak’ a mouth- 
ful’ o’ ye, an’ spit ye ower th’ garden hedge.’ 

The black bottle had nearly disappeared behind 
the landlady’s ample form, when Mac missed it, and 
after a playful struggle, the dame had to yield it to 
him again ; whereupon Mac helped himself to a 
liberal portion, and the liquor changed his mood. 
He no longer felt like an orator or a lover, he wanted 
to sing ; and so, stretching out his long legs, he moaned 
and wailed in most unmelodious fashion Annie Laurie, 
the song all Scots persist in inflicting on creation when 
overfull of good, or bad, liquor. Whatever Annie 
Laurie did in this world before she passed into song, 
she has paid for since, for her poor ghost has been 
stirred in every clime under heaven by that wail of 
woe ; but to do the Scots justice, few of them ever 
sang so badly or in such a stomach-aching voice as 
did McGlusky. All the Frenchmen within hearing 
lifted their hats reverently, saying : 

‘ Hark, the big man is mourning his dead mother, 
who was done to death by the Boches ; she must 
have died an awful death, or he would not make a 
noise like that.’ 

When the veteran came to the last verse, he tossed 
up his arms, and cried : 

‘ Noo, ma buckies, althegither, gie Annie a gude 
send off.’ 

Whereupon Ginger lifted up his voice in all its 
youthful purity, and made the old welkin rock. Mc- 
Glusky had not seen him join the throng, but skinful 
as he was, as soon as the dearly-loved voice broke 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


116 

in a flood of melody on his fuddled senses, he upreared 
himself to his full height, and stretching out his big 
arms, waited until the last throbbing note died 
away, then like a clarion call to battle his voice 
rolled over the throng : 

‘ Ginger — ta ma, Ginger, A’m deem’ f’r a sicht o’ 
ye,’ and Ginger, caring nothing who saw, leapt like a 
young stag through the startled French folk and flung 
his arms round the rugged neck. 

' That does th’ trick, Joe ; th’ Old Timer’ll come 
like a lamb now,’ was Snowy’s drawling comment. 

‘ I didn’t know the limb was in the crowd, and I 
was afraid th’ Old Timer’d be pullin’ his fightin’ boots 
on soon.’ 

‘ Bedad, thim two wans won’t want us f’r a bit, 
Snowy ; let’s give the girls a trate,’ and with this end 
in view the irrepressible pair strolled off to air their 
very limited stock of French amongst the lasses who 
always made a British soldier welcome, for though 
the Tommies might not be saints, they were angels 
in comparison with the bestial Germans by whom 
that part of France had been overrun. 

Ginger, having found McGlusky, now set to work 
to try and wean him from the bottle for the purposes 
of getting him back to the lines, but liquor to the 
veteran was like blood to a tiger ; his will was iron 
as long as he was away from it, but when once it had 
bitten him he was as weak as water until his fevered 
thirst was sated. Picking up the bottle, the youngling 
began in his most wheedling manner : 

‘ Faith, sorr, an’ uts toime we was marchin’. Take 
hould av me arm ; Oi’ll carry th’ bottle, an’ we’ll be 
back to our dug-out in a jiffy.’ 


IN THE HANDS OF THE GERMANS 117 
* A’m no’ drunk, laddie/ 

‘ Och, drunk ! Who said yez was drunk, sorr ? 
Y’r jist a bit excited wid — wid th’ scenery, sorr/ 

‘ A’m — A’m excited. Ginger/ 

4 Ye are, sorr/ 

McGlusky shook his big head with half drunken 
solemnity. 

‘ A maunna let ma officer see ma excited. Ginger ; 
gie ma a wee drappie ta cool ma down/ 

‘ Divil run away wid me silly tongue ! Did Oi say 
yez was excited ? It’s cool an’ collected as a judge 
ye air this blessed minute, sorr/ 

‘ Y’r sure o’ 't, wee mannie ? ’ 

' May Oi nivver ate fish on a Friday if y'r not, 
sorr/ 

Mac wagged a finger at him. 

‘ Y’r richt, laddie, so yin mair pull at th’ bottle 
won’t hurt ma. Gie it ma th’ noo.’ 

Ginger knew how artful the veteran was in his cups, 
so he tried another tack. 

4 Oi’m wantin’ yez at me dug-out this blessed noight, 

sorr ; uts — uts me birthday, an’ ’ 

McGlusky snatched the bottle and upreared him- 
self unsteadily. 

4 Ginger’s birthday, ma wee buckie’s birthday, an' 
me no’ drinkin’ his health ! Ginger, here’t ta 

ye.’ 

He put the bottle to his lips and let the spirit gurgle 
down his throat like water down a brook, and when 
he lowered his arm there wasn’t enough liquid in that 
bottle to wet a bee’s boots, as Ginger explained to Joe 
later on. 

4 Ye’ll be cornin' wid me now, sorr/ 


n8 GINGER AND McGLUSKY 

McGlusky closed one eye and leered at him. 

‘ Stan' still, Ginger, A can see sax o’ ye jumpin' 
roon ; it’s no’ — no' deegnified. Stan' still/ 

‘ Come along wid me f’r the love av Mary/ pleaded 
the lad. He feared the giant’s kindly mood might 
change at any moment under the influence of the 
liquor, and if it did he knew what would happen, 
and a French picket might try to arrest the Scot, in 
which event there would be fireworks and the Lord 
only knew what else to follow at the hands of the 
provost marshal. 

McGlusky’s chin had sunk on his chest ; he looked 
sullen and untractable ; he was getting to the stage 
when the liquor roused the brute in him. 

‘ Where’s Snowy ? Ca’ him, Ginger*; A’m gawn ta 
crack a bottle wi’ him.’ 

Quickly the lad found the sharpshooter, who was 
taking lessons in French in a very pleasant fashion. 

‘ Come an’ help me wid him, Snowy ; he’s dhrunk 
enough now ter hev th’ black dog av Tyrone on his 
shoulder ; an’ whin he’s loike that, a wink from a 
ghost wud set him fightin’/ 

‘ I know, kid ; it’s like that with some ; the whisky 
turns to snake juice. How’ll we handle him ? Me 
an’ Joe have just come out of hospital — don’t want 
to go back, do we, Joe ? ’ 

' We’ll thry tactics ; we dursen’t thry force.’ 

‘ What’s yer idea of tactics, kid ? ’ 

Oi heard th Auld Timer say wanst, Snowy, you 
cud carry whisky ter beat th’ band.’ 

‘ I don’t often feel like it, but when I do, I can shift 
a good drop, kid.’ 

‘ Do ut make yer dhrunk, Snowy ? ’ 


IN THE HANDS OF THE GERMANS 119 

' Never been drunk enough to try an’ walk home 
backwards yet, young ’un.’ 

‘ Well, thin, you come an’ drink wid th’ Auld Timer 
till he’s dead dhrunk, thin we’ll wheel him home in a 
wheelbarrer ; thim’s me tactics.’ 

‘ Easiest way out of a deep hole, kid ; he’s near 
fightin’ drunk now ; I’ll set him a pace that’ll carry 
him over that, and land him in butterfly land. I can 
manage it, seein’ th’ start he’s got on me, though I 
wouldn’t like to try if we had an even break.’ 

‘ If yez happen ter want a little help ’ insinuated 

Joe, but Ginger cut him short. 

* Help,’ he sniffed scornfully. ‘ By th’ toime Snowy 
had the Auld Timer under th’ table we’d have you 
on the roof, Joe. Wan lunatic at a time’s a faste av 
reason.’ 

The three conspirators got back to McGlusky just 
in time to prevent a breach of the peace. The little 
Frenchman who had been rude to the big Scot and 
had escaped with impunity, had trespassed on the 
laws of civility again, but this time it was a very 
different animal he had to deal with. Mac lurched 
to his feet, steadying himself with one hand on the 
table ; he glared with red, angry eyes at his insulter. 

‘ Man, there’s — ower much draught — cornin’ through 
yon keyhole — an’ A’m gawn ta push ye inta it — A 
dinna like draughts — ye — ye — .’ 

Ginger, full of resource, flung his arms around the 
Scot’s neck, and whispered : 

‘ Sorr, don’t hurt ut — don’t hurt ut, f’r uts a woman 
in disguise indade, an’ yez mustn’t hurt a wee 
woman.’ 

' A wumman ! Losh, laddie, A kenned A was near 


120 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


drunk, but A didn’a ken A was as bad as a’ that ! 
Bring th’ wee de’il here, an’ All kiss her an’ dan’le 
her on ma knee/ 

The buxom landlady came to the rescue, and hustled 
the troublesome one off the scene, and there was 
neither ceremony nor sweetness in her methods. 
Whereupon Mac, turning from the angry to the amor- 
ous mood, swore he would * danle ' the big landlady 
on his lap, if he ' dee’d f’r it.’ But Snowy thrust a 
glass half full of fire water into his hand, and chal- 
lenged him to drink, and the big man, seizing the glass, 
hurled the liquid down his throat, and Snowy met 
him fairly. Ginger, having taken the plunge, made 
up his mind that it should be no fault of his if his 
' tactics * failed ; he acted as waiter, and he adopted 
cavalry tactics, rushing Mac past the quarrelsome 
stage into the maudlin. Further than that he could 
not get him ; the cast-iron man refused to fall to pieces. 
Snowy’s eyes were shining like stars, and a little bit 
of the devil of his nature showed itself in the turned 
down corners of his mouth. 

' Get the barrer, Joe, we’ll thry him now ; th’ 
woman’s frightened, an’ won’t sell any more liquor.’ 

‘ Small blame to her,’ was Joe’s comment, as he 
went off and brought the vehicle. 

' Now thin, sorr, hang on to me an’ Snowy ; y’r 
motor’s waitin’.’ 

McGlusky was raised from his chair, the landlady 
helping by pushing from behind, and the brawny 
giant sprawled into the barrow on his back and was 
wheeled off, blowing kisses to the fat landlady, who 
waved him a glad farewell. Joe did the wheeling, 
and they progressed in good shape towards their 


IN THE HANDS OF THE GERMANS 121 


bivouac, until they met a young lieutenant who 
snapped : 

* What’s wrong with that man ? ’ 

Ginger, saluting, replied in deferential tones : 

‘ Motor accident, sorr.’ 

‘ This man badly hurt ? ’ 

* Surgeon-major who examined him, tould us ter 

take him to th’ hospital, sorr ; concussion av th' brain 
an’ — an’ octerdegeneration av th’ spinal column, 
an’ ’ 

‘ By gosh, that sounds pretty bad, my lad ; better 
get him in quick.’ 

As they moved along, Joe asked : 

' An’ what’s octedegeneration av th’ spinal column, 
Ginger ? ’ 

* Uts somethin’ fools get f’r axin’ silly questions,’ 
snarled the imp. ' Glory be, here’s our lines. Now, 
if we don’t run into a staff officer, we’ll have the Ould 
Timer in th’ trenches termorrer, an’ he can take his 
sore head out av th’ Huns — an’ he will.’ 

They had almost reached safety when that officer 
who had the drawing of the airship plans to attend 
to, walked almost on top of them in the dusk. All 
might even then have been well, if McGlusky had not 
sat up and, removing his hat with drunken gravity, 
demanded to be saluted, failing which he promised 
to plant whiskers on the officer’s face and shave him 
afterwards. Joe broke into a run, and Snowy held 
the maniac down on his back, as he ran by the side 
of the barrow, and a dozen Anzacs coming on the scene 
threw their overcoats on top of the cursing Scot, 
drowning his savage outcries, and so they got him to 
camp, but Ginger was alone with the officer. 


122 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


‘ Well, what have you to say for yourself ? ’ 

‘ Sorr * 

‘ Well ? ’ 

* Let me have his punishment, sorr.’ 

Then the lad, who knew how grave the offence was, 
and how drastic the punishment might be for his friend, 
opened the floodgates of his soul, and told what Mc- 
Glusky had been to him, and seldom has a man pleaded 
for his own life with more unfeigned eloquence than 
Ginger pleaded for the Old Timer’s. Now it happened 
that this officer had seen much service, much sorrow 
and suffering, and the heart within his bosom was 
a man’s heart, warm and human. 

‘ I’ve been hearing about you— and him, from the 
padre this afternoon. You’ve got a good streak in 
you, and so has your friend.’ 

' He — he’s an angel from hivin, sorr.’ 

* Didn’t sound like one just now — nor look like one ; 
he looked like a beast.’ 

‘ Ut was the dhrink, sorr — Och, damn the dhrink, 
sorr. Why ain’t thim that make ut an’ sell ut court-, 
martialled an’ shot ? ’ 

‘ Do j^ou drink ? ’ 

‘ Not much, sorr ; he’d belt th’ backbone out av 
me if Oi did.’ 

‘ Queer beggar, he is, my lad. Now I’ll give you 
and your friend a fighting chance.’ 

‘ Yes, sorr, glory be, Oi’ll take ut, whatever th’ odds.’ 

‘ The padre tells me that you never break a solemn 
promise, though in other respects you — well, you’re 
an extraordinary inventor.’ 

Ginger blushed and hung his head. He knew his 
story of the morning was stripped naked. 


IN THE HANDS OF THE GERMANS 123 

' Will you give me your promise that as long as the 
war lasts nothing shall tempt you to touch liquor ? * 

‘ Yes — by th’ book, sorr.’ 

There was a strange ring in the young voice, and 
the officer, who had handled many men, knew what 
it meant. 

‘ No excuse, my lad ; you’ll stand by your word ? ’ 

‘ Oi’ll be crucified before Oi’ll bust me pledge, 
sorr.’ 

‘ Very well, I’ll trust you, and as far as I’m com 
cerned, I’ll forget what I’ve seen and heard to-day. 
You’ve the making of a man and a soldier in you. 
Now go and do your best for that poor chap ; he’s not 
the first the drink has cursed. One moment — what 
was your real share in that aerial invention ? ’ 

Ginger shrivelled. All the stuffing went out of him. 

‘ Oi — Oi lied, sorr.’ 

* Why ? ’ 

‘ To — save him, sorr.’ 

' Wouldn’t the truth have done as well ? ’ 

‘ Oi thought you wouldn’t listen if Oi didn’t say Oi 
helped invent ut, sorr, an’ Oi knew Oi cud put you 
right ; Oi know th’ machine backwards.’ 

‘ It’s a pity ; I think I should have listened ; I’m 
no preacher, I’m a soldier ; try and go straight ; 
you’re only a youngster — good night.’ 

As Ginger moved away he had a lump in his throat, 
for a kind word will often break a stubborn spirit 
that would only grow callous under harsh treatment. 
Old service men who have been through the mill know 
this, it’s the young prig, pushed into power which he 
has neither the gut$ nor the brains to deserve, who 
never learns this fundamental truth ; he starts life 


124 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


with a fool’s equipment, and his men, who for the 
time being are the mills of God, find him out. 

When McGlusky awoke in the morning, his tongue 
was as a piece of old shoe leather pinned to his palate, 
and his head was like to split. Ginger was bustling 
about the dug-out, cooking breakfast. Snowy came 
in ; he had been up half the night on special duty. 
Ginger was frying eggs on a piece of galvanized iron 
that had been beaten flat, and did excellent service as 
a frying pan. 

‘ Where did you get them eggs ? ’ 

The question came from Snowy. Ginger looked up 
from the business in hand. 

‘ Found ’em.’ 

* Didn’t hear any hens cacklin’ around here, Ginger.’ 

* No,’ said Ginger, blowing puffs of smoke away, 
4 No, Oi was out whistlin’ me momin' prayer, an’ Oi 
met a girl from th’ village wid a basket av fresh eggs, 
a dozen, Snowy.’ 

' Yes, what happened ? ’ 

‘ The eggs happened ; they’re here, ain’t they ? ’ 

* Seems like it. Did she want to sell them ? ’ 

‘ No, not exactly ; she axed me th’ way to th’ 
Gineral’s headquarters, an’ Oi said, “ Oi’m th’ 
Gineral’s ordherly, mam’selle.” " Weel, monsieur, 
sez she, “ will yez take these eggs ? ” an’ Oi tuk ’em, 
an’ that’s all there is to ut. Snowy.’ 

* Ginger ? ’ 

' Yes, Snowy.' 

‘ Did you ever prig a battleship ? ’ 

' Not yet ; Oi niver had a chanst — how do yez loike 
yours done, Snowy, wan side or — turned over ? ' 

' Both ways f’r me,’ gurgled Snowy ; then heartily : 


IN THE HANDS OF THE GERMANS 125 

* Come on, Old Timer, Ginger’s been raisin’ chickens* 
and I’ve news f’r you.’ 

' What may ut be, buckie ? ’ 

' We’re goin’ to storm the Boche trenches by open 
daylight. Our idea is to take him by surprise ; no 
big gun fire first, just a sudden jump over the parapet* 
and a bit of steel to do the trick.’ 

McGlusky propped himself up on his elbow. 

‘ A’ve been prayin’ ta th’ Lord ta show ma ma path- 
way clear, an’ A see it noo. Dinna ye laddies ever 
say th’ Lord doesn’a answer prayer.’ 

He got out of his bunk and sat on the side in his 
shirt, his hairy legs dangling nakedly, and his whisky- 
inflamed face crowning his gaunt angular frame. 

' A see ma duty noo,’ he proceeded. ' A ha ta swat 
Boches. A thocht A was gawn to mak’ a name f’r 
masel’ in th’ aerial world, but that was vanity, buckies. 
Ha ye ma auld rifle an’ bay ’nit handy, Ginger.’ 

The Irish imp produced it spick and span, for he had 
cherished it lovingly. McGlusky looked it over in 
every detail with the eye of a master in such matters. 

' Ginger,’ he said in a voice that had a kink in it, 

* Ginger, th’ wumman ye fa’ in love wi’ wull ha’ na 
cause f’r complaint ; ye’ll keep her polished fore an’ 
aft ; ye’ll be father an’ mither, bed an’ breakfast ta 
her. A ken that by th’ way ye ha’ cherished ma gun. 
Chuck me ma pants, Snowy, an’ let’s bury th’ General’s 
eggs ; it’s na use leavin’ circumstantial eevidence in oor 
dug-out. A’m theenkin’ th’ General wull no’ like it 
when he finds his breakfast ha’ gone astray ; th’ higher 
a man gets in this w r orld, th’ less abeelity he develops 
ta ken a joke.’ 

They ate the purloined breakfast, and then 


126 GINGER AND McGLUSKY 

McGlusky, who was suffering the pangs of the after- 
math which treadeth on the heels of a debauch, 
said : 

‘ Wee laddie, A’d gie ma immortal soul this minute f ’r 
a good stiff dram. Ye ha’ a quick brain, buckie; cud 
ye no’ help ma just this yince ? Ma innards are burnin’ 
like Tophet, an’ ma tongue whacks up agin’ the roof 
o’ ma mooth like th’ clapper o’ a bell agin th’ sides 
on a joy day. Yin dram wud mak’ a mon o’ ma ; ye 
ken A’ll be a’richt after A’ve soothed ma feelin’s wi' 
a bit play wi’ th’ steel amang th’ Germans.’ 

' I tried to loot a bottle o’ rum for you, Old Timer,’ 
cooed Snowy. ‘ I knew how you’d feel when you woke 
up, but I had no time to pick an’ choose. I went 
into the surgeon’s dispensary with a fairy tale, and 
coming out I grabbed a bottle, but it turned out to 
be castor oil, so I gave it to a little Gurkha for a plug 
of tobacco— told him it was a new kind of drink in- 
vented for the sahibs on the staff who wear red 
bands on their caps. He was pouring it down his 
neck when I left, ‘and,’ cooed Snowy, ‘from what I 
remember of castor oil, he’ll wish to Jeosophat the 
staff sahibs had it in about an hour’s time.’ 

‘ A thank ye, buckie,’ replied McGlusky, in his 
quaintly courteous way. ‘ A’m glad ye gave it to 
th’ heathen ; A’d ha’ drunk it if ye’d brocht it, though 
A ken it’s no’ refreshin’. A’d drink maist anything 
th’ morn ; ye ken A ha’ been soakin’ in fire water f’r 
three days.’ 

‘ Oi got a bottle whin Oi was out foragin’ before Oi 
woke ye, sorr, but ’ 

‘ Ye wee angel, what was it ? ’ 

4 Och, Oi dunno if yez can dhrink ut, sorr ; ut’s called 


IN THE HANDS OF THE GERMANS 127 

methylated spirits; ut's stuff they claneth’ woodwork 
o’ th’ General’s motor-car wid, an’ ’ 

‘ Wee mannie, wee mannie, ye’ve been a blessin’ ta 
me ivver since A clapped eyes on ye.’ 

‘ Can yez dhrink ut, sorr ? ’ 

‘ Can A ? Ye bet yer breeks A can ; it’s no’ what 
A’d ca’ tasty stuff, but A’ve drunk worse mony a time. 
Only, laddie, after A’ve had yin or twa drams, A mauna 
light ma pipe wi’ a match, f’r fear ma breath catches, 
fire an’ turns ma inta a torch. Dinna stay ter pu’ th’ 
cork, jist knock th’ neck off th’ bottle, an’ gie ma a swig/ 

‘ Sorr.’ 

* We el ma cherub.” 

* Oi brought this because Oi cud’nt get ye decent 
stuff to wet yer whistle wid.’ 

' A ken ye did yer best ma mannie, noo gie the 
bottle a skelp. A’ve got the desert o’ Egypt mixed wi 
the fires o’ Tophet in the back o’ ma gullet — it’s — it’s 
maesome.’ 

‘ Faith, sorr, this stuff ’ll bite the dhry spot like er 
serpent. Oi brung ut to yez ter show yez Oi’d done 
me best f’r yez.’ 

‘ A’m no dootin’ ye.’ 

The boy went close to the veteran and ran his 
fingers through the rough hair lovingly. 

‘ Sorr.’ 

‘ Weel, week’ 

' Don’t dhrink ut, sorr, dhrink drags yez down, sorr, 
ut — ut near bruk me heart ter see the lads laughin’ 
at ye yesterday whin yez had a skhin full. Oi’ nivver 
had a haro before, sorr.' 

‘ Hero — A’m no hero, Ginger.’ 

' Ye are whin yer sober sorr, yer my haro/ an Oi 


128 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


wuddent swap yez f’r wan wid a halo — damn the 
dhrink, sorr, bust the bottle wid yer rifle butt, sorr.’ 

* Just yin dram, laddie.’ 

‘ Plaze — no sorr.’ 

McGlusky reached out in his torment and seized 
the bottle, for his life long curse was tearing at his 
vitals, his eyes glared at the lad he loved and for 
one horrible moment Snowy feared he would strike 
the boy, but Ginger never flinched though his brave 
face turned white to the lips, and placing his hands 
on McGlusky’s arm, he whispered hoarsely : 

' If yez dhrink, Oi’ll — Oi’ll dhrink too an’ perjure 
me soul.’ 

Then in swift, eager words, he told of his promise 
of the night before to the staff officer. Slowly Mac’s 
big right hand clenched on the bottle, slowly he raised 
it, and poured the contents out on the floor of the 
dug-out. Then he hurled the empty bottle through 
the opening of the dug-out, and the company sergeant- 
major, who was coming in, got it on top of his break- 
fast and sat down in pained silence ; but when he got 
his breath back again, he painted a picturesque and 
fanciful picture of all McGlusky’s forbears, right 
back to NIoah’s Ark ; the picture was so comprehen- 
sive and faithful in regard to detail that, as a work 
of unstudied art, it won Snowy’s unbounded admiration. 

' A’m varra sorry, sergeant-major. A was just 
castin’ oot de’ils.’ 

‘ An’ when th’ devils were cast out, they entered 
into th’ swine,’ supplemented Snowy, whose biblical 
knowledge, like that of most Australians, was far 
more extensive than his practice of the same. 

The non-com. glared at the grinning sharpshooter 


IN THE HANDS OF THE GERMANS 129 

whom he loved, for had not Snowy carried him in when 
he fell wounded and Turks were jabbing at him with 
their bayonets ? 

‘ Ger out, might have known you were in this/ 
Then, turning to McGlusky, ' You’ve made a nice 
mess of your chances — chucked away a * commission, 
that’s what you’ve done.’ 

‘ Thought it was a bottle th’ Old Timer chucked,’ 
drawled Snowy the imperturbable. 

‘ I’m not alludin’ to what he’s just done. What 
did he want to go to the village an’ make a holy 
exhibition of himself for, after inventin’ the best 
airship in th’ Empire, an’ fightin' it too, like a bally 
air adm’ral ? ’ 

* I knew a man once,’ came the soft voice of Snowy, 
‘ a man who was boss of the biggest cattle station on 
the Murrimbidge before he was twenty-three, won 
his job too by brains and grit, an’ one day he went 
into a little bush township and filled up to the ears 
on cheap rum, an’ painted that township red — includ- 
ing his boss, who came to remark on his behaviour. 
He got th’ sack an’ had to turn round and work 
as a common station hand. Why did he do it, ser- 
geant-major ? ’ 

* Because he was a magenta idiot, Snowy.’ 

* Most of us are at times, sergeant-major.’ 

‘ I was that time, Snowy,’ growled the sergeant- 
major,’ but I did’nt think you’d throw it in my face, 
sonny, an’ I guess the Old Timer was when he went 
ragin’ after th’ bottle the other day. Well, can’t 
be helped now. You three go an’ fall in ; we’re 
goin’ over the parapet directly ; the old man has got 
a hunch he’d like those German trenches/ 


9 


130 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


‘ What for, Oi’d like ter know ? ’ demanded Joe, 
who had come in. 

‘ Dunno,’ chirruped the non-com., ‘ unless perhaps 
he’s goin’ ter plant pertaters or — or tulips ; all I do 
know is he wants ’em, an’ we’ve got to take ’em.’ 

* Och, thin some av us will be planted,’ grinned 
Ginger. 

‘ Sure thing, but it’s all in th’ day’s work. Get out 
now ; this place stinks of whisky like a boozing ken.’ 

' Nice nose you’ve got, sergeant, it ain’t whisky ; 
it’s — what was it, Ginger ? ’ 

‘ Ut was methylated spirits, Snowy, an’ — an’ we 
got ut to clane our mud floor wid.’ 

' The reward of virtue f’r us, kid,’ came the tired 
drawl of the sharpshooter ; ‘ th’ more we do in this 
blessed old world, th’ less we get thanked for it.’ Then 
with a devilish kind of chuckle all his own, he added, 
* I wonder what that Gurkha thinks of castor oil as 
a pick-me-up by this time ! ' 

McGlusky had buckled on his bayonet. 

‘ Come awa’ wi’ ye a',’ he growled. * A’m hopin’ 
Windy Wullie or his deegenerate son is makin’ a call 
on his Bavarians th’ morn ; A’d like ta push ma bay’- 
nit through yin o’ them an’ carry him on ma shoulther 
ta Berlin, no’ in malice, but as a warnin’ ta fules no’ 
ta dream th’ earth’s yin mon’s footstool.’ 

As the men of the old brigade fell into line pre- 
paratory to entering the communication trenches to 
back up the first line men when the order to go over 
the parapet should arrive, the C.O. walked slowly 
from end to end inspecting each man with an eagle 
glance, that missed no detail of warrior or equipment. 
When he got to McGlusky he halted. 


IN THE HANDS OF THE GERMANS 131 

' Thought you were lost to the infantry, Old Timer ; 
fancied you were going to the aerial corps ; glad to 
have you to-day, anyway — feeling fit, eh ? ’ 

With the free and easy warmth of the privileged 
* old brigade ’ Mac made answer : 

‘ A’ve felt better, an’ A’ve felt waur, sir, but gin A 
get ta grips wi’ yon buckies, A’m theenkin’ — A’m no' 
sure — A’ll add a wee bittie ta th’ population o’ hell 
afore A coom back. Are we ta tak yin trench an’ 
hold it, sir, or gang oor ways an’ tak’ th’ lot ? ’ 

' Leave that to your officers, Old Timer ; they’ll 
carry you on or hold you back according to instruc- 
tions.’ 

‘ Varra weel, sirr, A’ll fix ma een on a machine- 
gun, an’ gin A tak’ it, A’ll jest tote it back on ma 
shoulther.’ 

Straight as pines the men stood rank upon rank, 
faces brown as saddle-flaps, eyes sombre and steady, 
lips sullenly clenched, every man trained to the hour 
like wrestlers ready for a world’s championship, 
greater perhaps in their individual might than any 
body of men that earth had ever seen unleashed for 
war, some of them so young they should have been 
at school, yet all were veterans of many hand to hand 
engagements with the steel, and as the C.O. looked at 
them his eyes kindled. 

The order came at length, and the reserves went 
into the trenches and lined up ready for the word, 
and when it came, the earth seemed to spew forth 
men, so swiftly did the athlete host go over the parapet 
and across ‘ no man’s land.’ The surprise was com- 
plete, for the attack had been heralded by no gun 
fire ; normal conditions had been kept up until the 


132 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


moment the signal to advance was given, and the first 
inkling the enemy had of the happening was the sight 
of the men hurling themselves forward with bayonets 
fixed. Still, though surprised, the Germans had 
been watchful, and the flash of their rifles, the deadly 
rattle of machine-guns and the bursting of bombs 
told the deadliness of their purpose. The front line 
of attackers was gapped dreadfully by the first couple 
of volleys ; the third volley swept it away — not an 
officer, not a man was left upon his feet, and at that 
short range sixty-five per cent of those who went down 
were down and out. The second and third lines got 
fearfully mauled, for the machine-guns swept every 
inch of space, and only the angels know how any single 
soldier escaped the rain of death, but the third had 
covered the advance of the first line of reserves, and 
in that line raced Ginger and McGlusky, Flamingo, 
Snowy and Joe. True to his purpose, the big Scot 
had fixed upon a quick-firing gun as his objective, and 
he went for it as a hawk to a heron. He hurled bombs 
as he rushed, as did most of the reserves, and their 
bombs fell not alone in the German front trench, but 
in the second trench as well. As he charged, Mc- 
Glusky shouted : 

1 Rin ahint ma, Ginger; A ’ll keep th’ lead off/ 

' See yez in blazes first, sorr/ 

Then with an Irish whoop the sunset-headed imp 
dashed forward like a greyhound; there was no 
thought in his mind of letting the veteran cover his 
advance ; his one dream was to be the first man in the 
enemy trench, and he was, for a moment after he had 
hurled his last bomb, his toe stubbed on something 
just outside the trench, and he dived headlong into the 


IN THE HANDS OF THE GERMANS 133 

depths below, and just missed a couple of bayonets 
that shot upwards to welcome him, and for a moment 
he lay sick and silly where he fell, for he had landed 
on his red head, and how he did not break his neck 
it would have puzzled a priest to explain. 

Once in the trench, it was the Anzacs' turn to get 
busy ; they fought with what the French term elan, 
a fiery vigour that characterized all their efforts, and 
though the Bavarians were game and stubborn foes, 
they could not stand against the cold fury of the boys 
from down under, and the longer the fight raged, the 
worse it was for the Germans, for they had not the 
wire and whipcord stamina of the Anzacs. The free 
life of the great open-air spaces, the reasonable hours of 
labour and the muscle making open air games and good 
food spoke for themselves in that hour, and the sap 
that had been brewed in the bones of their fathers and 
mothers in the bush and on the wide rolling plains 
in God's sweet sunshine, stood to the sons of New 
Zealand and Australia as in the days of old such 
things had stood to the Vikings. 

McGlusky, as he later on recorded, was * no' idle.' 
He had come for a gun, and a gun he meant to have ; 
his bayonet was wet and his forehold on his rifle was 
sticky with blood that had been brewed in Germany, 
ere he came near the accomplishment of his desire ; 
then he grasped a quick-firing gun in his sinewy 
hands and tossed it out of the trench, and as he did 
so, some Bavarian, who as Mac explained was * no' 
gentle,’ brought the butt of a rifle down on the back 
of his skull, and if it had not been for the fact that 
Mac with true canniness always went into action with 
the roof of his hat solidly padded with cotton wool* 


134 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


that blow would have sent him drifting up the golden 
stairs in search of his harp. He lay prone for a time, 
taking very little interest in his surroundings, then, 
as his senses cleared, his rage awoke. ‘ Th’ dom 
pagan ’ — every one who hit him was a pagan to 
McGlusky. He reached a hand out amid the trampling 
feet, in search of a rifle, and his fingers closed on the 
handle of an American axe that had been in use for 
cutting and driving stakes to * shore up ’ the side of 
the trench. ‘ It was no’ a gentle eenstrument,’ as he 
explained to the company sergeant-major by a bivouac 
fire, ' but gey useful/ In the hands of any man an 
American axe is not a tool to be trifled with, but in the 
hands of one who had hewn forest tracks by the 
mile in the Australian bush and New Zealand moun- 
tains, it was something to see — and run from, if a 
man had room to run. But there was not much room 
for running in that trench. McGlusky rose, beat 
down a bayonet thrust made at his midriff, with the 
flat of the axe, then, with the woodman’s skill and 
subconscious deftness, he turned the axe edge down- 
wards, lifted himself on his toes, and smote at a 
German helmet. 

' A did na split th’ buckie all th’ way doon ; A was oot 
o’ practice, ye ken ; but A’m theenkin’ it made na 
deeference ta him.’ So he explained what he termed 
* th’ wee happening ' to Snowy in milder moments. 

The swing of the axe, the clangour of battle, got into 
his blood ; spiked helmets cracked like hazel-nuts 
beneath his blows ; vain was any attempt to parry 
his strokes ; he towered head and shoulders over the 
Bavarians, and when the edge of his axe glanced 
from a helmet, it got a shoulder, and the result, as 


IN THE HANDS OF THE GERMANS 135 

far as the Bavarians were concerned, was the same. 
Six and a half pounds of tempered steel on the end 
of an ash handle, in hands like his, would have made 
light of anything that was not armour-plated. The 
Bavarians in the front trench had more than enough of 
the good things that were going ; they tried to escape 
by the communication trenches, but choked the 
passages in the rush, whilst those who clambered 
over the top were swept away by the machine-gun 
fire of their own comrades in the second and third 
trenches. In that mad melee, McGlusky would 
have been killed many times if it had not been for 
Snowy. The big Scot in his fierce Berserker lust of 
battle gave no thought to anything but cracking 
spiked helmets, and fighting, raging Germans coming 
upon him from behind would have driven their 
bayonets through him, but Snowy, who carried a 
block of ice where his head ought to have been, got 
close to the veteran, and turning back to back either 
warded off thrusts of steel, or touched a trigger at the 
right moment. 

The communication trenches were cleared, the second 
line was assailed and defended with desperate valour ; 
German slogans, Maori war yells, wild Australians 
cries mingled with the clash of steel, and McGlusky’s 
unmelodious voice bellowing above the rest in what 
he claimed to be a battle hymn : 

‘ Th’ sheaves air failin’ thick an’ fast 
In th’ vineyard o’ th’ Lord, 

Th’ pearly gates air openin’ wide 
For thim that knew th’ word. 

We air Thy gentle husbandmen, 

Who strive ta do th’ right, 


136 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


On, ye Anzac buckies, on ! 

Lord, teach ’em hoo ta smite ; 

Lord, teach ’em hoo ta smite, teach ’em hoo ta smite.* 

The second trench was in the hands of the British, 
and the officers who knew how stern the battle had 
been, and how much vitality had been taken out of 
the troops, wisely checked the onslaught. 

‘ Losh,’ growled McGlusky, ‘ gie me a few thoosan’ 
gude axemen wi’ weapons like this yin, an’ a rovin' 
commeession, an’ A’d blaze a trail ta Berlin.' 

‘ Nice tool,’ cooed Snowy, * but I like a rifle at eight 
hundred yards, an' a little carryin' wind behind me, 
an' just a haze over the sun to stop the glare.’ 

‘ A dunno, Snowy, what the gommerills that equip 
armies air aboot ta neglect th’ axe ; it’s no’ pretty, 
but it gets there. A had feefty Yankee frontiersmen 
wi’ ma in Maxico yince, all armed wi’ axes, an’ we 
cleaned oot a toon ; tuk it fra five times oor number,, 
an’ they wi’ bayonets.’ 

‘ Yes, Old Timer, in street fightin’ you could be 
rude to people with an axe, or in a trench, but in the 
open give me a rifle an’ a spoon.’ 

‘ A wonner where that wee buckie Ginger’s got ta ? 
A dinna see his copper top gleamin’ in th’ ranks o’ 
war, dae ye ? ’ 

‘ No, Old Timer ; last time I saw the kid he was 
divin’ down a German trench as if he meant to come 
out somewhere in Sydney harbour. Don’t worry 
about him ; he’s got the luck of the devil ; anyway, 
we’ll soon know — there’s our stretcher-bearers at 
work.’ 

‘ A’m no’ worryin’, Snowy, but ’ — Mac ran his fore- 
finger over the gapped edge of his axe— ‘ eef Ginger’s 


IN THE HANDS OF THE GERMANS 137 

gone west All steel ma heart agin peety th’ next time 
A fecht — losh, A wull.’ 

Hearing which, a slow smile crept round the sharp- 
shooter’s rather cruel lips, for he had not noticed any 
undue amount of pity about McGlusky’s methods in 
the fighting just ended. 

‘ Were you ever really cross in a fight, Mac ? ’ he 
queried in his quizzical, leg-pulling voice. 

* No’ often, Snowy, but A was yince.’ 

‘ When was that ? ’ 

‘ A buckie A lent a kangaroo dog ta in th’ bush left 
it tied up in camp, an’ went away on the spree, an’ — 
an’ it was midsummer, an’ blazin’ hot, an’ he left na 
watter f’r ma dog, an’ — A foond it ravin’ mad, an’ 
put it oot o’ it’s agony.’ 

‘ Yes, and then ? ’ 

‘ Then A went an’ foond th’ mon ; he had gone in 
th’ saddle thirty miles to a toonship, an’ A had ta 
foot it, A had na horse.’ 

‘ Well ? ’ 

‘ A was cross, ye ken. A foond him, an’ A tuk his 
horse an’ his stockwhip, an’ A drove him like a beast 
ta where ma dog lay. He was on foot, ye mind. 
A gie’d him th’ law an’ th’ justice o’ th’ bush ; A 
drove him ower th’ hills an’ plains wi’ th’ stockwhip, 
an’ — A gie’d him na watter, an’ it was midsummer an’ • 
hot at that, an’ Snowy, ye ma’ believe ma or no’, 
but as A sat in th’ saddle hoor by hoor an’ drove him, 
A saw th’ ghost 0’ ma dog trottin’ at his heels till he 
fell.’ 

‘ Good G ! Didn’t he ever get to camp again ? ’ 

‘ A dinna ken. A left him wi’ the ghaist o’ ma 
dog. A gie’d th’ law an’ th’ justice o’ the bush ; ye’d 


138 # GINGER AND McGLUSKY 

ha’ done th’ same yersel’, ye’re no’ a weakhn’, Snowy/ 

‘ I dunno. I love dogs an’ horses same as you do, 
but I think I’d sooner have given him this/ Snowy’s 
hand caressed his rifle. 

‘ No, na, that would ha’ been th’ law o’ th’ wilderness, 
but na justice ; th’ dog suffered five days, why should 
th’ mon escape wi’ five seconds’ pain ? A love justice. 
Snowy/ Then, pulling at his pipe and looking with 
eerie eyes into futurity, he murmured : 4 Aye, buckie, 
justice, an’ — an’ gentleness air gawn ta redeem this 
sinfu’ world ; ye can pile y’r banners roon that gran’ 
truth, buckie, it’s th’ law o’ creation.’ 

‘ God save me from his gentleness,’ murmured 
Snowy to his own soul, and something like awe crept 
into his eyes as he watched the granite face of the man 
he loved. 

When the order came for the * reserves ' to get 
back to camp, McGlusky carried a quick-firing German 
gun on his shoulder as if it had been a feather. 

‘ A said A’d dae it, an’ A did it,’ was his only com- 
ment as he dropped it at the feet of the C.O. ‘ Noo, 
sir, ma’ A gang an’ speer amang th’ wounded f’r 
Ginger ? He’s no’ in th’ ranks, f’r A’ve watched 
f’r him.’ 

‘ Ginger’s a prisoner with the Germans, McGlusky ; 
the sergeant-major saw them lug him off after he 
dived over their parapet. Don’t worry, they won’t 
hurt him.’ 

' Eef they dae, sir, A’ll push ma thumb into yin 
ear till it comes oot o’ the ither o’ th’ buckie that 
does it, eef A ha’ ta gang ta Berlin ta find him.’ 


CHAPTER VII 

McGLUSKY DISGRACES THE ANZACS 


T HE day following the attack upon the German 
trenches McGlusky presented himself to his 
C.O., asking that he might be included in any patrol 
sent out by the British for purposes of spying out the 
land. 

‘ A ha’ it in ma bones A may glean tidin’s o’ ma 
wee mannie, sir/ was his wind-up to his appeal. 

‘ I don’t see how you can learn anything, Mac, but 
I’ll include you in any patrol I send out/ was the 
C.O.’s reply. 

‘ A dinna exactly see hoo A’ll glean tidin’s masel’,. 
sir, but ye never ken wha’ may happen ; perhaps A’ll 
drop across a German doin’ some scoutin’ on his own 
account, an’ if A dae an’ he kens anything aboot 
Ginger, A’ll dae ma best ta coax it oot o’ him.’ 

‘ You mustn’t do anything unlawful to prisoners of 
war, Mac.’ 

‘ A ken that as weel as yersel’, sir. Gin A get hold 
o’ yin o’ th’ Kaiser's spawn, A’ll reason wi’ him, an 
A’m theenkin eef he kens anything o’ ma laddie, he’ll 
tell/ 

The C.O., who knew Mac, thought it more than 
probable that the German would tell — if he was wise 
So it came to pass that Mac went out with a squad 
139 


140 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


which had been detailed for special duty, and every 
man had been carefully selected for his nerve and ex- 
perience. The party left the British lines and entered 
a wood that stretched well out towards the enemy’s 
lines of battle ; they made their way cautiously, for 
secrecy was the very essence of their efforts. They 
were all experienced bushmen, and flitted from tree to 
tree like so many ghosts, for they never knew the 
moment when they might happen upon a German 
patrol engaged upon a similar errand, and the hardiest 
of them all knew that a rifle bullet would stop the 
bravest, and it was a maxim of theirs that it was more 
blessed to give than to receive. They had nearly 
cleared the wood when a dozen bullets splashed amongst 
the trees in their vicinity. 

‘ Lie doon, buckies, an’ crawl ta yon clump o’ young 
tim’er.’ 

Down went every man at full length, and with 
infinite caution they made their way to the spot 
indicated, whilst bullets continued to splash in the 
timber they had just left. The firing had come from 
their right flank, which rather puzzled them, as in that 
direction the French were known to be keeping a sharp 
look out. As soon as they reached close cover, 
McGlusky said : 

' Yon’s regular soldiers ; they’re no’ bushmen ; 
they’re firin’ wi’ th’ regularity o’ church bells ringin’. 
Eef we squat as close as partridges, we’ll bag th’ lot ; 
it willn’a be long before they show theirsel’s.’ 

In this the veteran was mistaken, for though the 
Anzacs lay as still as shadows, no enemy put in an 
appearance. After a bit he said : 

' They’ve mair sense than A gie’d ’em credit for. 


McGLUSKY DISGRACES THE ANZACS 141 

Ye bide still, an’ A’ll wriggle back an’ see if there's no’ 
a way ta circumvent ’em.’ 

Slipping his rifle along his back, he wriggled back 
to the danger zone, and for a goodly time his comrades 
neither heard nor saw anything. By and by, however, 
there came another volley from the right flank, and 
some one whispered : ‘ They’ve spotted the Old 

Timer.’ But they did not move ; they had the patience 
of the trained bushmen and simply sprawled at full 
length and chewed tobacco. 

He came back as he had left them, wriggling with 
skill born of much practice, and as soon as they saw 
him they noted that he was hatless and shirtless, 
and that his face wore a grin that would have illumi- 
nated a dustbin. 

‘ Located ’em, Mac ? ’ whispered Flamingo. 

‘ Sure thing, buckie. A crawled ta th’ place where 
we laid doon, an’ A took off ma shirt an’ put it on 
ma rifle, an’ ma hat on top o’ that, an’ A held it so’s 
a bit o’ ma hat an’ a bit o’ ma shirt deescovered 
’emselves roon’ th’ trunk o’ a tree, an’ they plugged 
lead at ma claes, an’ they’re no’ sic bad shots ; ma 
hat was blown away, an’ ma shirt is no’ short o’ button- 
holes th’ noo, though some o’ them air in places where 
A dinna wear buttons.’ 

‘ See anything o’ them, Old Timer ? ’ 

‘ Not when they fired ; A was no’ sic a fule as ta 
lift ma head ; A just leestened, an’ A got their bearin’s 
fra th’ crack o’ their rifles, an’ A wriggled where A 
cud see ’em.’ 

‘ How many are they ? ’ 

‘ Maybe a dozen, maybe mair, but — they’re no' 
Germans, they’re French ; leastway, they’re niggers 


142 GINGER AND McGLUSKY 

in French uniforms. It’s a surprise party belongin' ta 
our ally.’ 

‘ Why didn't you tell ’em who we are ? ’ 

‘ Ma French is no’ so gude, an’ A thocht they micht 
mak’ a cherubim o’ ma before A’d learnt enough 
French ta explain. Which yin o’ ye speaks th’ lingo ? ’ 

They all looked at each other and grinned ; not one 
in the crowd could talk more than enough of the tongue 
of France to get himself into trouble with a cabman 
in Paris. 

‘ Ye seem awfu’ bashfu’, ma buckies, yet A’ve heard 
some o’ ye tell terrible lees aboot th’ conversations 
ye’ve had wi’ French lasses.’ 

‘ Oh, ring off on that, Old Timer, love talks all 
languages,’ chortled one of the bunch, and the rest 
•chuckled. 

* Losh,’ growled Mac, ‘ eef leein’ was lovin', ye’d be 
gran’ han’s at it.' 

' Perhaps some of them talk English,’ suggested 
a scout. 

‘ The officer micht, but A ha’ ma doots aboot th’ 
niggers. A weesh Ginger were wi’ us.’ 

' Ginger couldn’t talk French.’ 

‘ He cudn’a, but he kenned a verse o’ a French 
song, an’ that wud ha’ done ta break th’ ice.’ 

' I never heard him sing any French, Old Timer.’ 

' A did, an’ so did th’ padre, an’ the gude padre 
told him if he ever heard him sing it again he’d boot 
him first, an’ beat th’ face o’ him afterwards, so A’m 
theenkin’ it was no’ a hymn.’ 

‘ I can whistle the Marseillaise,’ crooned Flamingo. 

‘ Whustle it then, an’ eef they shoot, duck y’r head 
an’ keep it ducked.’ 


McGLUSKY DISGRACES THE ANZACS 143 

* I will/ remarked Flamingo emphatically. 

A little later he whistled the war melody of the 
Republic, and a bullet almost immediately cut the 
bark on a tree about nine inches above him. 

‘ Keep it goin’, y’r doin' gran',' cried McGlusky. 

* Some one else have a turn,' answered Flamingo 
modestly. 

One of the others tried Rule Britannia, which 
brought three bullets, and the whistler said he only 
knew one verse. The next to try his musical talent 
was young Murrumbidgee, and he whistled ' The 
Battle of the Boilin' Water,' which caused Paddy 
Hogan to call him names which would have taken the 
gilt off a brass button. 

‘ A’ve got it, let’s a' sing God save th’ King — even 
th’ pagans must know that.’ 

So, forgetting that Germans have ears as well as 
Frenchmen, they lifted up their voices and sang, all 
except Paddy Hogan, who swore by his pet saint that 
he wouldn’t sing anything loyal after being insulted 
‘ wid Boilin’ Wather.’ Hardly had they finished a 
verse when rifles began to rattle behind them, and 
to add to their happiness the French posse, taking the 
whole affair as a German trap, opened upon them also. 

‘ Now we’ve struck it — Frinch on wan side an’ 
Kaiser Bill’s birds on the other.’ 

‘ This is the time f’r tactics, ye gommerill,’ snarled 
McGlusky ; ‘ crawl away on th’ left flank, an’ let th’ 
Frinch an’ Germans advance on each ither, an’ we’ll 
enfilade th’ Germans’ position at th’ richt moment.’ 

This manoeuvre was carried out with considerable 
skill and no delay, for bullets from both sides were 
zipping about in a manner which did not invite any 


144 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


dawdling of an unnecessary character. Slowly French 
and Germans drew closer to each other, each side 
taking all the cover possible, then at last the Zouaves 
lost patience and spoilt McGlusky’s plan ; their 
officer had fallen, and they made a sudden rush with the 
steel, but the Germans, keeping cleverly under cover, 
mowed them down, and as one or two survivors turned 
to flee, dodging in out and amongst the trees, the 
Germans rushed in pursuit, and the Anzacs, unable to 
use their rifles effectively on account of the timber, 
fixed bayonets and jumped to save the Zouaves, but 
the Germans were in much greater force than they 
had appeared to be, or else the sound of firing brought 
up supports. The,few remaining Zouaves, recognizing 
their allies’ uniform, turned and went with them into 
the fight, and it was wicked whilst it lasted. Mac, 
seeing the hopelessness of the odds, shouted an order 
to fight on the retreat, and the Scouts did as they were 
bidden. They had nearly cleared the wood, and 
knew that help would soon reach them when, to their 
unutterable amazement, they saw McGlusky throw 
down his rifle and hold up his hands in token of sur- 
render — he, the grizzliest, gamest fighter of them all, 
had given in after the tamest resistance of a lifetime. 

In camp that night men spoke of it in queer, hushed 
tones ; the surrender of the veteran hurt them as 
though a battalion had turned tail and lost its guns. 

‘ Only goes to show yer,’ remarked Prospector 
Brown, ‘ that a chap never knows what he may come 
to, but if any one had told me th’ Old Timer’d have 
lost his nerve in a scrap, I’d ha’ said things about his 
mother would ha’ made him think she was no lady.’ 

' Me too,’ contributed Kumalpi, ‘ but yer never 


McGLUSKY DISGRACES THE ANZACS 145 

know yer luck. I knew Billy Delaney when he was 
the best buck jump rider on this planet ; he’d travel 
fifty miles f’r th’ mere pleasure of ridin’ an “ outlaw ” 
that no other man could sit f’r three minutes, an’ th’ 
last time I met Billy, we had ter blindfold him to get 
him on to th’ back of a tame station hack ; he’d 
lost his nerve. But I thought McGlusky would go 
th’ whole course before he broke down. I ain’t ever 
goin’ ter say again I’ll never chuck my rifle down an’ 
sprint f’r th’ back trail after this.’ 

‘ You never know yer bloomin’ luck,’ was Murrim- 
bidgee’s contribution to the discussion ; ‘ tryin’ ter 
guess what a man’ll do when he’s rattled is like a mug 
tryin’ to pick th’ lady when I’m shufflin’ th’ cards.’ 

Snowy, though often appealed to, said nothing, 
but his funny mouth wore a crooked smile most of the 
time, and once he chuckled audibly, as he bit off a 
corner of his tobacco plug. 4 Smooth ’ Jimmy, the 
one man in the battalion who was suspected of having 
a tendency towards cold feet in time of danger, and had 
achieved his nom de guerre by the descriptions he was 
wont to give of his personal deeds of slaughter by day 
or night, was the person responsible for the break-up 
in Snowy’s imperturbable calm. Every one knew 
that ‘ Smooth ’ Jimmy hated McGlusky, because the 
big Scot had once dragged him up from the bottom 
of a trench where he lay shamming dead at Gallipoli 
during a fight. 

' I — I had a fit,’ ‘ Smooth ’ Jimmy had explained. 

' Dinna ha’ anither yin, or it wull be yer last ; ye 
stan’ next ta me an’ fecht, an’ eef ye feel a fit cornin’ 
on, prepare yer sinfu’ soul f’r judgment.’ 

And as the man was more afraid of McGlusky 

10 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


146 

than he was of Turks, he had no more fits. He 
thought his chance had arrived as the men were 
discussing the Scot’s surrender. 

‘ Him,’ he growled contemptuously, ‘ I never could 
see why you all thought so much of that old stiff. I 
alwis knew he had a yellow streak in him a yard wide.’ 

Without a word, Snowy drove his fist into the 
slanderer’s mouth, causing him to sit down very 
abruptly, and he remained in that posture until 
Snowy’s voice, slower and even more sarcastic than 
*ever, queried • 

‘ Well, ain’t you going to get up, or do you think 
you’re a broody hen on a sittin’ of eggs ? ' 

‘ You coward, Snowy,’ chortled Murrimbidgee, 
“ what do you mean by hit tin’ a feller twice as big as 
yerself ? ’ 

' Yes, he’s twice as big, or near it, an’ th’ biggest 
part about him ’s his mouth.’ 

Murrimbidgee, who was a devil unchained when 
roused, in spite of his years, contributed another 
question pregnant with sarcasm : 

‘ What’s you try to break “ Smooth ” Jimmy’s big 
heart for, Snowy, makin’ him sit on it so awful 
sudden ? ’ 

The culprit rose and took himself to a more con- 
genial sphere, and the discussion concerning McGlusky 
continued until ‘ blankets ’ were the order of the 
night. 

When reveille sounded next morning there was 
■consternation on all sides, for Snowy, the invincible 
sharpshooter, was missing. That particular company 
had a few hours off, as they were acting as reserves, and 
•every one, officers and men, discussed the surrender 


McGLUSKY DISGRACES THE ANZACS 147 

of McGlusky and the disappearance of Snowy with 
energy and wonder, excepting Murrimbidgee the gam- 
bler ; that queer mixture of original sin and daredevil 
heroism squatted down in a lonely place and shufflea 
his cards, and dealt ‘ hands ’ to imaginary players, 
but there was a faraway look in his eyes all the time. 
To him came the padre on soft falling feet. 

‘ Ah, me son, getting comfort from your familiar 
devil, eh ? ' 

' That’s about it, padre/ 

' What do you make of what’s happened, Murrim- 
bidgee ? You’ve the cleverest head in the lines ; 
more’s the pity, the use you put it to.’ 

‘ Sit down a minute, padre, an’ I’ll ask my familiar 
devil.’ 

‘ Don’t be a heathen, Murrimbidgee.’ 

' I’m as I was fashioned, padre.’ 

The young face was hard and defiant, and his eyes 
never flinched from the padre’s steady gaze. 

* Me son, y’r in trouble.’ 

' Man was bom to trouble as the sparks fly upward,’ 
quoted Murrimbidgee flippantly. 

The padre sat down, and taking the cards from the 
gamester’s hand, examined them, and as Murrim- 
bidgee noted the long, delicate fingers of the church- 
man, he smiled ; his own fingers had been cut in a 
similar mould. The padre noticed the half-whimsical, 
half-bitter smile. 

‘ Why are you smiling, me son ? ’ 

‘ Padre, you’re a good gambler — wasted.’ 

The churchman almost dropped the pack, for he had 
felt the nameless thrill which comes to some men as 
soon as the painted cards were in his hands ; he had 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


148 

noted the sensation before on more than one occasion, 
and had always put it down to a subtle temptation of 
the father of evil ; he had never paused to consider it 
might be merely a physical and hereditary taint in 
his blood, as so many things are which we in our 
cowardice shoulder on to the devil. Murrimbidgee’s 
smile deepened. 

‘ You’ve got th’ fingers an’ th’ temperament an’ 
th’ nerve. I could teach you more in an hour than 
I could teach any man in th’ Anzacs in a year, bar 
Ginger.’ 

The padre sat silent, following this new train of 
thought that had been thurst upon him. 

‘ You believe in God, padre ? ’ 

‘ Of course, my son ; do you think I’d preach what 
I do not believe ? ’ 

* I’d bet my best girl against a butterfly you wouldn’t, 
padre ;* you’re too game.’ 

‘ Only a coward would, my son.’ 

‘ Yes, an’ there’s lots o’ cowards, padre.’ 

The churchman sighed ; he knew the remorseless 
truth of this born logician who seemed to have been 
born with an analytical brain and a dead soul. 

* What do you tie up to ? What keeps you sure in 
your faith ? It isn’t reason, it isn’t knowledge, for, 
padre, no man hath seen God, an’ there isn’t a scrap 
of original evidence in existence to prove the verity 
of the book you build on.’ 

My faith grows out of faith, my son, as raindrop 
added to raindrop makes a river.’ 

' An’ if you had been born without the power of faith 
— what then, padre ? ’ 

God only knows, murmured the padre solemnly. 


McGLUSKY DISGRACES THE ANZACS 149 

r Perhaps I’d have struggled through to the light ; 
perhaps I’d ' 

‘ Perhaps you’d have been as I am, padre.’ 

The padre made a pitying gesture that was full of 
tenderness, for he had knowledge of Murrimbidgee, 
had known him in the mining camps before the war, 
and Murrimbidgee knew that he knew. 

‘ Life’s a pack o’ cards, padre. If I shuffle fair an' 
deal fair, anything may turn up a king o’ hearts or 
— a jack o’ knaves; if I shuffle on the “ cross ” an' 
deal on the " cross,” I can turn up what I like — you 
know that.’ The padre nodded. ' Well, padre, I 
haven’t had a fair deal — an’ you know it.' 

The churchman looked dreamily in front of him, his . 
shapely fingers locked as if in prayer, and when he 
spoke it was as if to some one not visible to human eyes. 

‘ In that day the dark ways shall be made plain and 
the crooked paths be made straight.’ 

Murrimbidgee shook his head, and a smileThat was 
worse than mourning wreathed his lips. 

‘ Now you’re dealin’ from the bottom o' th’ pack ; 
it’s not a straight game, padre.’ 

‘ Why ? ’ 

* You’re hintin’ at justice in futurity.’ 

‘ Well ? ’ 

The young gamester leant forward, his eager, 
intellectual face blasted with bitterness. 

‘ What guarantee have I — have you — that the 
power that gives me a crooked deal here will give me 
a straight deal hereafter ? ’ He waited for an answer, 
but the churchman was praying inside himself. ‘ Padre, 
in th’ game o’ chance, I might ha’ been you an’ you 
might ha' been me — don’t be hard, padre.’ 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


150 

* Hard ! * The word came from the brave church- 
man’s lips with ineffable sweetness. ‘ Hard — have I 
ever been hard with you, my son ? ’ 

‘ No-o, you knew too much to blame me ; you knew 
my mother — she was a soft, pretty, trusting fool — 
so I’ve heard — I never saw her, to know her — an’ 
my father. Say, padre, if there is a hell, I hope he’s 
playin’ f’r red hot cinders an’ gettin’ ’em by th’ shovel- 
ful.’ The padre went on with his praying. ‘ What 
do soldiers talk about at the war ? ’ sneered the hard 
young voice ; ' their beautiful mothers, eh ? Well, 
I’ll talk of mine this once, because you know. Just a 
little fool of a governess on a big cattle station — nursery 
governess at that — and my beautiful father, too — 
sent out as a “ jackeroo ” by his family to learn cattle- 
raising in Australia ; sent out because he was a card- 
sharp and a crook, and had disgraced a name that 
had never been disgraced before. He promised to 
marry my mother — and — ’ — the gamester laughed — 
* forgot. I have three of his letters now. I don’t 
suppose he ever gave her another thought after he 
went home, an’ she died, an’ I’ve inherited my father’s 
precious qualities.’ 

' No, your father was a coward, and there’s none 
braver than you in Anzac.’ 

‘ You still say you believe in a just God ? ' 

‘ Yes.’ 

‘ Then you think I had a fair deal — me, born without 
a name, without a character, without power to believe 
what you believe, padre.’ 

The padre shook all over, for his keenly sympathetic 
soul made him feel the lad’s agony in every fibre of his 
being. 


McGLUSKY DISGRACES THE ANZACS 151 

‘ The sins of the fathers shall be visited upon the 
children unto the third and fourth generation/ he 
said solemnly. ‘ I can’t understand it, my son ; it’s 
all hidden from me, but it’s the plan.’ 

‘ Then I’m just a piece of the pattern in the carpet, 
eh, padre ? Don’t seem to me like a fair deal ; it’s 
just as if I “ stacked ” the cards when gambling 
with a blind man.’ 

‘ You wouldn’t do that, my son.’ 

* No,’ said Murrimbidgee rather weakly, ' no, I 
wouldn’t do that , but this time it seems to me as if I’m, 
th’ blind man an’ some one — something is doin’ th’ 
stackin’ o’ th' cards — Let’s talk about McGlusky 
an’ Snowy, padre.’ 

' What do you think of what’s happened ? ’ 

Murrimbidgee slowly shuffled the cards with fingers 
that had eyes in them. He flicked out the king of 
hearts. 

* That’s Ginger.’ 

The padre watched the deft fingers as if magnetized^ 

'Yes,’ he answered, ‘ that’s Ginger.’ 

Out fluttered the king of clubs. 

‘ That’s McGlusky, padre.’ 

' H’m, yes ; clubs describe him better than anything: 
else in the pack.' 

A subtle movement of a thumb, and the ace of 
hearts was beside the two kings. 

‘ That’s Snowy, padre, and here’s what my familiar 
devil tells me. Ginger got taken prisoner when, 
we went over the Boche trench, and McGlusky gave 
himself up as a prisoner to be near th’ kid ; that oldl 
devil wouldn't have thrown his hands up to the wholes 
Prussian Guard if his “ wee mannie ” hadn’t been 


152 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


carted into their lines. Some of the fools think he lost 
his nerve ; when he parts with his nerve in a fight, 
you'll find oysters growin on apple trees, an pink- 
eyed rabbits eatin’ 'em. He's not gone to make a 
present of himself to Kaiser Bill ; he’s gone to help 
the kid to escape — ever pray for the soul of a Prussian, 
padre ? ’ 

* Not often, I’m afraid, but I think I could — even 
for a Prussian.' 

‘ Well, you pray for the soul of that one who gets in 
McGlusky’s way the night he’s tryin’ to get oh with 
Ginger — that Prussian will need prayin’ for, padre.’ 

* And, Snowy, where does he come in ? ’ 

‘ Oh, him ; I thought you had eyes, padre. Snowy 
has only one god — and his name’s McGlusky. Bet you 
my chance of a harp against th’ bottom of a biscuit 
tin Snowy walked right into the arms of a German 
sentry last night, and gave himself up as a deserter ; 
those three will not be far away from each other by 
this time, an’ between ’em they’ve got brains enough 
to beat the band ; they’ll escape all right if McGlusky 
don’t insist on trying to bring back a German standard 
or — or th’ Crown Prince, when he comes.’ 

‘ Murrimbidgee ? ’ 

‘ Yes, padre.’ 

‘ You think a good deal of Snowy, don’t you ? ' 

The gamester lit a cigarette and went on shuffling 
his eternal cards, then : 

‘ About as much as you think of heaven, padre. 
He’s the only man in the battalion who doesn’t hold 
me cheap behind my back.’ 

‘ Why don’t you make a pal of him ? ' 

The gamester laughed, and the churchman, who 


McGLUSKY DISGRACES THE ANZACS 153 

hated cursing, would rather have heard him swear. 

‘ Snowy is as straight as I am crooked ; he wouldn't 
have me for a pal.' 

‘ Still, you are fond of him.’ 

‘ If he’s ever in a tight place, and I'm round, I'll try 
'nd show you how fond I am, padre.' 

There was no trace of boastfulness in the tired young 
voice, but the eyes of the two men met and the church- 
man understood. 

‘ Snowy's a fine chap,' was all he said. 

' He’s ace high,’ was the quiet rejoinder. Then, 
throwing away his fag, Murrimbidgee thrust his cards 
into his tunic pocket and rose. ‘ Conference closed 
now, padre; good day.' 

' Give yourself a fighting chance, Murrimbidgee — 
give your soul a fighting chance.’ 

‘ Cut it out, padre ; if I'm paying for the sins of my 
father, my soul hasn't got a fighting chance — never 
had — 'nd I’m damned if it’s a fair deal. I’ll take 
what’s cornin’ to me, an’ I won’t snivel over it, but 
if my father is getting what I hope he is, he'd pay a 
big price for a block of ice just now. S’long, padre. 
I’m playin’ a poker game with destiny, an’ — destiny 
has earmarked all the trumps in th’ pack.' 

All that day, as he went about his manifold duties, 
comforting the wounded and cheering the weary, the 
padre had the memory of the bitter voice and the hard, 
relentless face of the gamester with him, and at night, 
in his dug-out, he knelt and prayed for the power to get 
a grip on the soldier’s soul ; but all the time he prayed, 
though his eyes were closed and the dug-out in dark- 
ness, he could see two brown, shapely hands fondling 
a pack, and long, deft fingers flicking cards hither 


154 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


and thither. Spades and hearts, diamonds and clubs, 
fell in front of him, face upwards, and through the 
pleading of his praying a voice that was not human 
seemed to mock him. ‘ Life’s all a gamble ; if you 
had been born in his shoes, you would be as he is.’ 
And the padre bowed his head humbly and praj^ed 
for himself, and his own soul, and when he came forth 
in the morning, though his face was drawn and wan, 
he was a bigger and a better man than ever before, and 
nearer to the kingdom of heaven. So in that strange 
way it may be that the gambler had helped the padre. 
Who knows, except the Master Artisan, who dovetails 
life into life to make, perhaps some time in the faraway 
future, a perfect humanity out of a seeming comedy of 
errors. Some such thought must have been passing 
through the cynical brain of Murrimbidgee as he stood 
on sentry duty, for he muttered impatiently : 

' We’re all of us horses an’ asses, an’ some one or 
something is drivin’ us all, though we can't see th’ 
reins — where to ? Damned if I know, an’ if the 
angels do, they won’t tell.' 

A German sniper sent a bullet whistling so close to 
his face that he said he smelt the lead as it went past. 

‘ That’s something I do understand,’ he muttered 
as he dropped full length and gave a couple of artistic 
and spasmodic kicks and leg twitches, then lay still. 
The sniper lifted himself from cover to view his work, 
and Murrimbidgee fired, and got him. 

‘ Another little light blown out,’ jeered the gamester. 

* Well, if no one misses him more than I'd ha' been 
missed if he’d got me, there won’t be tears enough to 
make the daisies grow in Germany.’ 


CHAPTER VIII 
* LORD, GIE MA PATIENCE ' 


‘ QO you’re the Anzac canary-bird, are you ? ’ 

O The speaker wore a spiked helmet and a grey 
great-coat, and his accent was perfect. 

Ginger nodded. 

‘ Och, Oi hope Oi’ll have a nice gilt cage, Fritz/ 

* You will/ This with a chuckle. * Seethe bars of 
your cage ? ’ He pointed to a row of German bayonets 
as he spoke, and Ginger grimaced. ‘ You don’t seem 
to like ’em. They won't like ’em either when they 
see a million of them in London/ 

' Faith, an’ that’s a dhrame ; how’re yez goin' 
ter get ter London whin yer fleet only goes f’r an 
airin’ in th’ Kayal Canal ? Tell me that now, Fritzy/ 
‘ It came out at Jutland, didn’t it ? ’ 

' Bedad, ut did, an’ ut wint back — some av ut. 
Did ye people kape a record av th’ speed y’r fleet 
thravelled at on th’ way back ? ’ 

" Why should they.” 

‘ Faith, an’ ut’s a pity ; ut must ha’ bate socks off 
the world’s racin’ record.’ 

‘ We beat the British at Jutland.' 

Ginger chuckled. 

‘ Did yer ? Oi’m thinkin* ut’s like th’ batin’ a boy 


156 GINGER AND McGLUSKY 

named Denis Sullivan give me when we had a foight. 
Oi chased him down his alley, an’ whin he got inside 
an’ slammed th’ door, he tould his mother he’d given 
me th’ devil av a hidin’. “ Did ye ? ” sez she, “ thin 
what’s he chasin’ yez f’r now ? ’* “ Och, him,” sez 

Denis, “ he wants me ter cripple him so’s th’ people’ll 
make up a subscription f'r him afterwards.” Oi’m 
thinkin’ y’r victory at Jutlan’ was on thim lines, 
Fritz.’ 

The German seemed to be a good-natured fellow, 
and rather relished Ginger’s sarcasms. He knew a 
good deal more about England than his prisoner did 
and explained his knowledge by saying he had been a 
professional singer and had toured Britain many times 
in his professional capacity. 

‘ Thin you’re th’ chap Oi had th’ singin’ match 
wid in th’ front trinches ? ” 

‘ Yes ; you’ve got a lovely voice ; ought to get it 
trained after the war.’ 

‘ Whin’ll that be ? ’ asked Ginger. 

The German sighed. 

‘ I’m like you, I’m only guessing ; I wish it would 
end to-day ; I’d love to see my wife and children again, 
and eat good food, and sleep in a clean bed.’ 

‘ Oi didn’t know much about beds or food ayther 
before th’ war ; me food was scraps an’ me bed was an 
unilegant blanket on th’ floor, an’ not always that. 

Then the youngling told how McGlusky had rescued 
him, and of his life in the army, and the German told 
him of life in the Fatherland before the trouble came. 

‘ It will never be the same again,’ he prophesied. 

‘ Ye mane whin y’re licked ? ’ queried the Irish lad. 
He did not mean in the least to be offensive ; he was 


LORD, GIE MA PATIENCE ’ 


157 

just voicing the sentiments of the army to which he 
belonged. 

‘ Perhaps we won't be licked ; none of your people, 
certainly not your newspaper editors or statesmen, 
know how we are prepared for a long struggle. But 
licked or not, things will never be the same in Germany 
after the war.’ 

They were well out of earshot of soldiers or other 
Prussians, and that particular soldier did not seem 
afraid to express his opinions. 

‘ It's going to be different with the Kaiser and the 
Junkers,' he continued, as if glad to have some one 
to unbosom himself to. 

‘ Och, th’ Kaiser ! Why don’t yez dhrown him ? 
He’s a baste ; he’s loike that mad divil Nayro.’ 

‘ Kaisers and Junkers have had their day all over 
the world ; they belong as a class to an age that is 
passing. This war is going to move the world on a 
thousand years, and mankind is going to be all the 
better for it in the long run, and no one will benefit 
so much as Germany by the change, for win or lose, 
she’ll be free of the so-called ruling classes.’ 

* What good’s thim so-called rulin’ classes, anyway — 
och, they only fill in the scenery an’ ate th’ grub.’ 

The German smiled broadly. 

* I don’t suppose you’ve studied the question, but 
I’d describe you as an incipient socialist, Tommy.’ 

‘ Me name’s Ginger.’ 

‘ Very good, Ginger. How did you pick up the 
seeds of socialism ? ’ 

‘ Oi expect Oi picked ut up wid the odds an’ ends av 
grub Oi picked up when Oi cud before th’ war.’ 

* Well, if you’re a prisoner until the end, you may 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


158 

see a revolution following a war, and it will be crueller 
than the war.’ 

* Oi shan’t do any weepin’ if all thim Junkers an’ 
Crown Princes an’ Kaisers get what's cornin' to ’em.’ 

‘ They’re going to get it, and all the military caste 
and multimillionaire class too.’ 

* Sounds as if yez meant ter do th’ job proper when 
yez start, but tell me, why didn’t you Germans have 
a go on y’r own, an’ clear things up respectable an’ 
dacent wid a few illigant hangin’s ter make sure, in- 
stead av takin’ the lid off hell an’ spillin’ th' contents 
over th’ face av th’ worruld ? ’ 

* The Kaiser had too many bayonets behind him, 
but we’re too used to bayonets now to be afraid of 
them, and Germany is not the only country that will 
be revolutionized.’ 

* If yez mane England, y’r wrong. Oi’ve heard ’em 
talkin’ about ut in th’ army often ; they say their race 
evolutes an’ don’t revolute.’ 

The German smiled at this crudely expressed idea. 

‘ Revolution is evolution ; only it’s evolution in 
action, Ginger.’ 

‘Is ut ? Thin,’ with one of his sunshine grins, 

‘ Oireland, th’ land that had the honour av producin’ 
me, must be mighty active ; they wear mournin’ 
there if they don’t revolute about something once a 
year ; revolution’s like boils wid th’ Oirish — if they 
don’t come out, they bust in th’ blood.’ 

‘ I’ve travelled in Ireland ; they never succeed as 
revolutionaries because they all want to be leaders ; 
the Irish trouble is they have too much brains.’ 

‘ Now Oi know what’s wrong wid me ; Oi’ll thry 
an’ put a sthopper on me mental expansion ; ut’s no 


‘LORD, GIE MA PATIENCE’ 


159 

use bein’ a jaynius if jaynius is as common as all that.’ 

The German took no notice of the jibe. 

‘ The Irish,’ said he, ‘ have too much imagination to 
make good revolutionaries : they upset the laws of 
revolutionary gravitation ; they place revolution before 
evolution. The English are different : they have 
more patience ; they will be ripe and ready before they 
move.’ 

Ginger was tired of the subject ; it was a trifle heavy 
for him ; he rose and shook himself like a water 
spaniel. 

‘ Ut’s dinner I’m wishin’ was ripe an’ ready, Fritzy ; 
if yez ever get tuk prisoner, you ask f’r the man Oi 
was tellin’ yez about, McGlusky — he’ll argue wid you 
till fish grows feathers.’ 

‘Is he a revolutionary ? ’ 

‘ Och, no ; he’s th’ most peace-lovin’ man aloive ; 
only he loves ter kape th’ peace wid a crowbar. If yez 
get into a argument wid him, Fritzy, an’ he begins 
walkin’ round on his toes, you drop your end av th’ 
argument ; ut’s — ut’s his way av advertisin’ the cornin' 
av throuble.’ 

‘ Perhaps your good friend will get taken prisoner, 
Ginger.’ 

Whereupon Ginger broke into scornful laughter. 

‘ Him ! — och, yer auld Kaiser will be goin’ around 
Berlin wid a monkey an’ a barrel organ playin’ rag- 
time f’r pennies before McGlusky chucks up the sponge. 
He’s ’ 

Just then there broke out considerable uproar ; 
and some soldiers were seen advancing. In their 
midst walked a mighty man in the Anzac uniform, 
and Ginger heard a Scottish voice exclaim : 


i6o GINGER AND McGLUSKY 

‘ Lord, gie ma patience a wee while ; dinna forsake 
they ewe lamb.in the midst o’ these spawn.” 

An officer walking directly behind the big man 
administered a kick that ought to have made the 
prisoner’s hair grow. He wheeled round, and the 
flat of* the officer’s sword took him across the cheek, 
leaving a crimson weal an inch wide ; then the officer, 
who had ‘ Junker ’ written all over him, swiftly pre- 
sented the naked point of his blade at the prisoner’s 
heaving chest. 

‘ March, you swine ! ’ 

The prisoner, who had looked as if he intended to 
leap on the steel, curbed his anger with a great effort, 
wheeled round and marched, and as he did so the 
officer administered another kick with such violence 
that the prisoner was propelled forward almost at a 
run, and again his cast-iron mouth moved and he 
prayed : ‘ Lord, gie ma patience a wee while.’ 

A cry of rage broke from Ginger, and he took a 
quick step forward, but the German soldier by his 
side grasped his collar: 

* Be quiet, my friend ; you can do no good, only 
harm. Your comrade is learning the law of the 
Junker.’ 

‘ Wan av these days — wan av these days ’ 

That was all the red-headed lad could gasp, but his 
beautiful eyes were fixed on the Junker officer’s face, 
and he saw it as through a haze of blood — Ginger was 
seeing red. 

McGlusky was pitched neck and crop into the 
place where the lad was stationed, and the Junker 
heaped upon him every kind of insult and abuse ; 
it was evident to Ginger that the ruffian was making 


' LORD, GIE MA PATIENCE ’ 161 

every effort to induce the big Scot to lose control of 
himself, in order that he might have an excuse to 
run his sword through the unarmed man. 

' If your friend lifts a finger, he will be a dead man/ 
whispered the decent soldier to Ginger. 

* Och, can’t Oi see his dirty game, th’ sweep, but 
there’s wan thing, if th’ Auld Timer does lose his 
self-control, that Junker’s goin’ ter hell on an express 
ticket : th’ Auld Timer’ll tear his jaws asunder.’ 

Three or four of the military police, who are prob- 
ably the basest breed of bullies on the planet, slaves 
of the Junker class in peace and war, panderers to 
their vices and willing accessories to their crimes, 
took McGlusky in hand, and he sampled Tophet. 

‘ What’s ut all for ? ’ demanded Ginger, whose face 
was blanched with the fury that raged within him. 

* The Junker was reprimanded by the Kaiser in 
front of his regiment because he let the Anzacs drive 
him out of a village ; he lost a standard and some 
guns that day, and he’s taken it out of the big man/ 
was the German soldier’s explanation. 

‘ Faith, Oi know all about that village ; Oi was in 
that foight, an’ ut was a good foight ; his men sthuck 
to ut like men, but we had th’ numbers av ’em that 
day. Blast th’ dirty baste ; sorra’s th’ day if Oi do 
not get even wid him f’r this.’ 

‘ You keep quiet, you young fool, or you’ll get the 
same, perhaps worse.’ 

When the military police had finished with Mc- 
Glusky, he was a spectacle — for their boots were heavy 
— yet he never once resisted ; only when they called 
him a coward, his battered and broken lips writhed 
themselves into a grin that would have ornamented a 

n 


162 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


gargoyle on a castle battlement. As soon as the Junker 
and his gang had removed themselves, Ginger sprang 
to the veteran, and kneeling by him, he pillowed the 
battered face on his arm, and broke into a passion of 
sobbing. 

‘ Whisht, wee mannie, dinna greet ; they ha’ no’ 
been kind ta ma, especially wi’ their spurs in ma face. 
A kent ye were here ; A saw ye oot o’ th’ tail o’ ma 
een when they flung ma in here ; it was that helped 
ma ta bide ma time.’ 

‘ Tell me, sorr, in th’ name av hivin, how did they 
take ye prisoner ? ’ 

‘ They didn’a tak' ma, A gie'd maser oop ta come 
an' help ye escape. A feared they’d manhandle ye, 
an’ drive ye ta dae something fulish, then they’d 
wipe ye off th’ map. So A surrendered ta be wi’ ye, 
an’ gie ye counsel ; ye’ll na let 'em get th’ best o’ 
ye, mannie.’ 

‘ Yez can bet y'r slice o’ hivin agin a hole in y’r 
socks Oi won’t, sorr ; Oi’ll take whativer they’re 
sendin’ an’ grin an’ bear ut, for Oi must live ter wipe 
out what’s been done this day. Oi meant ter escape 
first chanst Oi got on me lonesome ; ut’ll be aisy now 
we’re together.’ 

' A’m glad ye Teel All be helpfu’, wee laddie; it 
was no’ nice, th’ theengs they did ta ma, but since 
y’r glad A’m here, A ha’ no' suffered in vain — A’m 
content.’ 

He was very quiet and gentle, and as Ginger washed 
his battered face and sponged the matted hair free of 
blood, he smiled. Once he murmured : 

‘ Ginger, adversity's a gran’ school ta learn in once 
ye’ve mastered th’ rules ; ye ken th’ words th’ padre’s 


‘ LORD, GIE MA PATIENCE ’ 163 

sae fond o’, “ Greater is he that mastereth hissel’ 
than he that taketh a acetyl * 

‘ Ye mastered yersel’ grand, sorr ; Oi dunno how 
yez managed ut.’ 

‘ Love taught ma hoo, wee laddie ; A kenned weel 
eef A ran amuck, ye’d be jumpin’ in too, an’ then 
they’d ha’ wiped ye oot, an’ there’s a gran’ work in 
th’ world f’r ye tae dae ; ye mind hoo A tellt ye ta 
fix yer thochts on yin o’ thim stars in th’ hivins, an' 
try an’ climb ta it ? ’ 

Ginger nodded ; the lump in his throat was too big 
just then for him to trust his voice. 

‘ A’ve watched ye close since then, mannie,’ con- 
tinued the strangely gentle voice. ‘Ye’ve side-stepped 
noo an’ agin, but that’s only human. A’ve been proud 
o’ ye, laddie.’ 

Ginger, remembering the days when he had hardened 
his heart against this good friend, wished he was a 
rabbit and could burrow in the ground and hide hi s 
shame. The German soldier, who had been forced to 
overhear a good deal of what passed between the com- 
rades, slipped a pipe and tobacco into the veteran’s hand. 

‘ Smoke,’ he said ; ‘ it helps.’ 

Mac slipped the pipe between his teeth, and took 
a long, slow, delighted pull at the rank tobacco. Then 
with the one eye he could still see out of, he surveyed 
the helmeted soldier ; and he said : 

‘ Man, seein’ y’r a German, A dinna see hoo ye can 
escape gaein’ ta Tophet, but eef ye dae, A’ll bring ye a 
drink. Man, ye’ve got bowels av compassion, but 
A hope ye dinna theenk A’m a cooard an’ a weaklin’ 
because A took ma manhandlin’ like a lamb th’ noo ; 
it’s— it’s no’ ma way generally, ye ken/ 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


164 

‘ I know a brave man when I see one ; any one 
could run amuck and get killed under punishment ; 
it takes real courage to suffer and be still.’ 

Mac jerked his head comprehendingly : 

‘ Ye’ve got th’ root o’ th’ matter ; an’ considerin’ 
y’r a “ squarehead ” an’ ha’ been trained unner th’ 
eye o’ that child o’ th’ pit, Windy Wullie o’ th’ red 
hand, y’r no’ so far fra th’ kingdom o’ heaven, an’ A 
stan’ by th’ promise A made ye : gin ye gie ma a shout 
fra th’ hoose o’ torment, an’ A hear ye above th’ 
sweet music o’ th’ bagpipes in heaven, A’ll bring ye 
th’ watter.’ 

The German, who was an educated man, smiled at 
the grim certainty of his prisoner’s assurance of his 
own domicile in the land beyond the shadows. 

' We’re not all like those beasts who manhandled 
you ; they stand for Junkerism, the curse of our land 
and all others. I hope you’ll get a chance to even 
up with that officer ; he’d as soon treat me like that 
as you, if I crossed him.’ 

‘ A’m no’ revengefu’,’ crooned McGlusky, ‘ but 
gin A ever lay ma twa han’s on him during th’ war 
or after th’ war, eef A dinna put yin han’ on th’ top 
o’ his head an’ yin unner his chin an’ squeeze him as 
flat as an auld wife’s pastry-board, ma’ ma marrow 
turn ta dishwater in ma bones ; it’s his sort theenk 
God A’michty made them a’ oot o’ pure porcelain an’ 
th’ rest o’ us oot o’ dirt fra their boots, but the world’s 
done wi’ ’em, th’ earth’s goin’ ta ha a new dawn, an’ 
th’ wind o’ th’ new day shall scatter their dust for 
th’ fowls o’ th’ air ta scratch in ; this bluidy war 
didn’t leap frae th’ womb o’ hell f’r naething.’ 

' Amen to that,’ growled the German socialist 


‘LORD, GIE MA PATIENCE' 165 

soldier, and his voice was almost as hoarse with fury 
as the voice of the Scot. ‘ Amen to every word of it, 
Anzac, and if I’m reincarnated as one of the fowls of 
the air for my sins, I’ll scratch in it. I’m the last of 
my family ; we were nine, all men of peace who hated 
war, and only asked to be allowed to live at peace 
and work for our living, and two were only boys. They 
were all sacrificed to the golden calf, the money god 
and Junkerism.’ 

He held out his right hand impulsively. 

‘ A canna tak’ it,’ said the grim Anzac with a touch 
of pity in his savagery. ‘ A canna touch a German 
han’ in friendship till th’ bluidguiltiness o’ y’r nation 
is purged an’ swep’ clean like a threshing floor, an', 
buckie, th’ washin’ oot maun be done in red blood. 
Ye should ha’ hanged yer Kaiser an’ y’r Junkers fra 
their ane lintels afore ye let them lead ye a’ tae defame 
wummin, butcher peasants an’ mak’ th’ world a sham- 
bles — ye maun pay th’ price.’ 

For two or three days the two Anzacs were left in 
peace, but they were not removed very far from the 
firing line, which rather surprised them, as they learned 
from the kindly soldier that it was usual to send 
prisoners inland almost immediately. One day at 
about noon a couple of soldiers marched a prisoner 
towards them, and long before they could see his face 
they recognized the Anzac uniform. 

‘ It’s yin o’ oor buckies, Ginger.’ 

‘ Divil a doubt av ut, sorr.’ 

A moment later McGlusky blurted out : 

‘ Laddie, eef it’s no’ Snowy, ye ma’ ca’ ma a fule.’ 

‘ Och, y’r right, sorr. How in the name av Mary did 
they get him ? Oi nivver reckoned th y’d be clever 


1 66 GINGER AND McGLUSKY 

enough ter take Snowy ; he was as wide awake as a 
weasel.’ 

‘ A’m feared he must be sair hurtit.’ 

‘ He don’t march as if he had anything wrong wid 
him, sorr.’ 

The prisoner proved to be no other than the great 
sharpshooter, and he seemed on pretty good terms 
with his captors. They put him in with Mac and 
Ginger, and gave him tobacco and a pipe, and Mc- 
Glusky’s hair nearly stood on end as Snowy’s voice 
drawled to the guard : 

‘ I’m damned glad to be here ; I’ve had enough o’ 
th’ bally war.’ 

McGlusky went to the sharpshooter with an ex- 
pression of grave concern on his face. 

' A kenned ye must be sair wounded, Snowy. Where 
did ye get it, buckie ? In the head, eh ? ’ 

‘ I’m not wounded, you old fool, an’ what’s more, 
I ain’t goin’ to be. I’ve had all I want o’ fightin’, 
that’s all.’ 

McGlusky’s eyes began to bulge with astonishment, 
then a gleam of pity came into them, and his voice 
when he answered was as the voice of one who soothes 
a sick child. 

' A ken hoo it is wi’ ye, buckie, y’r no’ in y’r richt 
mind yet, y’r a wee bit daft like ; ha’ yet got a buz- 
zin’ in y’r ears ? ’ 

' Go to blazes an’ keep away from me ! I don’t 
want any truck with anything in a British uniform. 
Put that in your pipe an’ smoke it.’ 

4 Eh, buckie, y’r waur than A thocht ye ; ha’ ye 
been oop in a fly in’ machine an’ had a fall ? ’ 

He put his hand gently on Snowy’s shoulder, and 


‘LORD, GIE MA PATIENCE ’ 167 

the sharpshooter put out both hands and thrust him 
rudely away. 

' You be shot. I haven’t had a fall ; Eve surren- 
dered because I’m sick of fightin’, sick of bein’ bullied, 
see ? ’ 

McGlusky went across to Ginger. 

‘ He’s as mad as a sun fish in a snowstorm.’ 

' Lave him to me, sorr.’ 

Ginger lounged across where Snowy was standing 
near the guards. 

‘ Are yez in much pain, Shnowy ? ’ 

The back of the sharpshooter’s hand fell smartly 
on Ginger’s mouth. 

‘ Come near me again, an’ I’ll knock y’r copper 
top off ! ’ 

For a second Ginger stared in bewilderment ; he 
saw that the Anzac was not wounded, and he felt the 
blow tingling on his mouth. With a snarl of rage, 
he sprang at Snowy, and met a left hand punch that 
made him reel, but he dashed back and ducking under 
another straight drive, he clinched. Then the pair 
fought like wild cats until McGluksy tore them apart 
and held them at arm’s length, one in each hand, 
whilst they both struggled furiously, but vainly, to 
renew the combat. 

‘ Ye scut av th’ worruld, ye dirthy renegade ! ’ 
yelled Ginger. 

* You Irish gutter spawn,’ snarled Snowy. 

McGlusky’s face was the picture of misery, for he 
loved them both. The German guards enjoyed the 
picture ; it added variety to their daily menu. The 
officer who had illtreated McGlusky on the first day 
arrived upon the scene, and he beat Mac with his 


i68 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


scabbard as if beating a mad dog, and the big man 
bent to the storm. When he had tired of his pastime, 
the officer, wheeling suddenly, bestowed a kick upon 
Ginger that made him think he was a flying machine 
that had slipped its moorings, and Snowy only escaped 
a similar visitation by sprinting round the enclosure. 
For the rest of the day McGlusky and Ginger sat in 
gloomy silence in one corner of their prison, whilst 
Snowy sullenly chewed his tobacco as far away from 
them as possible, whilst the guards jeered at them 
mercilessly, and at times pelted them with offal. The 
kindly soldier had been removed, and the guards 
placed over them were from the charcoal-burning 
regions of the Black Forest, white savages filled to 
the ears with primeval passions ; they had been tasting 
Anzac steel for a month past, and their joy in having 
these prisoners to torment was unbounded. 

The night must have been just about half through 
when Ginger, always a light sleeper, was awakened 
by feeling a hand groping over his face. He knew 
it was not McGlusky’s, for the Scot’s hand was like 
a saddle-flap. The instincts that had lain dormant 
in Ginger since the nights when he used to sleep in the 
lee of any pile of timber or luggage on the wharf of 
the English seaport, woke at once, and he buried his 
teeth in the lower joint of the groping thumb, a pro- 
cess of defence which drew a rich and vivid volley of 
curses in English from the midnight marauder. A 
strong, slim hand closed on Ginger’s windpipe and 
forced his mouth open. 

‘ Wha’s wrang, Ginger ? Are ye ha’in a nichtmare ? 
Dods, laddie, gin ye kick like that agin, A’ll skelp ye, 
A wull. Are ye dreamin’ y’r a Junker de’il or a mule ? ’ 


' LORD, GIE MA PATIENCE' 169 

It was the voice of McGlusky in the darkness. 

* Shut up, Old Timer, you’ll have th’ guard on us.' 

‘ Is it yersel’, Snowy ? ' 

4 Sure thing.' 

‘ Th’ murtherin’ renegade ! ’ 

‘ Ring off, Ginger, or I'll choke you.’ 

‘ Wheest, Ginger, A'm theenkin' Snowy's foond his 
senses agin.’ 

A low, long drawn-out chuckle reached the ears of 
the Scot and his wee laddie. 

‘ Guess I'm th' only one in this outfit that has kept 
his senses.’ 

‘ A’m no’ unnerstanin’ ye. Snowy.' 

‘If I’d made friends when I was brought in, th' 
guard would have watched us.' 

‘ You — you’ve been play-actin' a’ th’ time, buckie ? ' 

‘ Looks like it, Old Timer.’ 

‘ An' ye were no’ hurtit when ye surrendered ? ' 

‘ Not on your life.' 

‘ An’ why did ye gie yersel’ oop ? ’ 

‘ Knew a couple of fools who were prisoners, an* 
thought some brains might be useful to ’em, so brought 
along th’ brains.’ 

Ginger was massaging his wind-pipe in the gloom. 

‘ Shnowy ? ’ 

‘ Well ? ’ 

‘ Ye’ve sphoilt me singin' voice.' 

‘ You’ve spoilt my thumb, so we’re quits, Ginger.' 

‘ Och, you an’ y’r thumb ! What did yez put yer 
thumb in me mouth for in th’ dark if yez didn’t want 
me ta bite ut ? ’ 

‘ I forgot the size o' yer mouth, kid ; most o’ yer 
face is mouth, ain’t it ? ’ 


170 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


Both the young soldiers chuckled ; the situation 
appealed to the inherent devilment in their natures. 

* Shnowy ? ’ 

* What is it, kid ? * 

‘ Don’t yez take up play-actin’ f’r a livin' afther th’ 
war.’ 

* Why not ? ’ 

' Ye’re too damn raalistic, Shnowy ; that swipe 
across th’ mouth yez gave me this afternoon cudn’t 
ha’ been raler if yez had meant ut.’ 

‘ No use half doing a thing, kid. I had to impress 
the guard.’ 

‘ Next toime yez want ter impriss any one, Shnowy, 
you bash a German an’ let me be th’ audience ; Oi 
don’t want no sthar part in thim kind av perform- 
ances.’ 

* Thought you liked leading parts, kid ; seemed to 
enjoy yourself when that Junker was kickin’ you 
through the roof ; you — you rose to the occasion.’ 

‘ Oi did. Oi rose nine fate. He’s a big baste, an’ he 
kicks harder’n a camel. Wud yez loike an invitation, 
Shnowy ? ’ 

' Don’t mind, kid.’ 

‘ Well thin, you come an’ see what Oi do to him 
whin me chanst comes. Oi’ll make no promises, but 
he’ll kick all right, an’ squeal too, providin’ Oi have 
a bit av spare toime on me hands on th’ occasion.’ 

* He must have hurt you awful when he booted 
you, you poor little devil.’ 

* He did ; Oi’ll hev ter sit down sthandin' up f’r 
about a year ; Oi didn’t know Oi had a funny bone in 
thim parts av me anatomy.’ 

' I did, kid ; I was courtin’ a girl once in Australia, 


‘LORD, GIE MA PATIENCE * 


171 

and her father made th’ discovery f r me ; he was 
a plate-layer on the railway, and had steel toe-caps 
to his boots too. I thought I was a comet when he 
kicked,’ drawled Snowy’s serious voice ; ‘ anyway, 
kid, I knew I had a tail.’ 

McGlusky said very little that night ; he was con- 
tent in the knowledge that Snowy was a true man, 
for the Scot had always looked upon the sharpshooter 
as one who knew no fear, and his behaviour whilst a 
prisoner had hurt the Old Timer more than the Junker 
officer’s blows and insults. He lay ruminating ; part 
of the time he was planning ways and means of escape, 
and a portion of the night he devoted to the devising 
of new and quaint forms of punishment for the arro- 
gant Junker. Towards morning Snowy broke in 
upon his musings. 

‘ Pretty quiet, Old Timer ; are you making poetry ? ’ 

‘ Don’t, Shnowy,’ whispered Ginger pleadingly — 
‘ kape him off th’ poetry f’r th’ love av Mary ; he’ll 
be readin’ it ta me all day.’ 

‘ A ha’ manufactured yin verse o’ a wee bit lyric, 
Snowy ; wud ye like ta hear ma recite it th’ noo ? ’ 

‘ You bet I would. Pull out the plug, Old Timer, 
’nd let th’ divine stream bubble out.’ 

‘ Och, an’ Oi thought yez was a pal,’ growled Ginger. 

McGlusky cleared his throat and chanted his ‘ lyric/ 
and his deep voice boomed through the aisles of night. 

‘ There’s a castle in th’ Fatherland, 

• On a crag beside th’ Rhine ; 

It’s th’ cradle o’ a Junker dog, 

Th’ last o’ all his line. 

His lady mither waits f’r him, 

Till war an’ strife air done, 


172 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


But A’ve a sma’ account ta close 

Wi’ her son o’ a o’ a son. 

He kickit me, a man o’ peace, 

Until his bootmarks rose 
Like water-melons through a leafy haze, 

Ye cud see ’em through ma clothes. 

He beat me wi’ his undrawn sword, 

Across ma Scottish face, 

A’ll dae th’ same an’ mair ta him. 

Gin th’ Lord wull gie ma grace.’ 

McGlusky paused, having lost the thread of his 
rhyme through turning over on his back, and thus bring- 
ing one of the ‘ water-melon ’ bumps the Junker’s boot 
had raised into contact with the hard earth, where- 
upon he cursed softly, but as fluently as if urging a 
bullock team in a boggy place into action. 

* That doesn’t sound like poethry,’ giggled Ginger, 

‘ but ut sounds a lot thruer than th’ poethry stuff, 
Shnowy.’ 

‘ I like the poetry,’ cooed Snowy, who knew every 
weak point in McGlusky’s armour. 

‘ Dae ye like ma verse, buckie ? ’ It was McGlusky’s 
voice, full of the pride of authorship. 

* Ye-s,’ drawled Snowy the leg-puller, ‘ your poetry 
only has one little fault, Old Timer.’ 

‘ What is it, buckie ? ’ 

‘ Sounds a bit like Sir Walter Scott’s Marmion, 
only better.’ 

McGlusky cogitated over this sophistry, then : 

‘ Weel, ye ken, buckie, A’ve read Walter Scott, an’ 
ha’ had a chance tae avoid his fau’ts, but he was no’ 
so bad, seein’ he on’y had Shakespeare as a model.’ 

‘ Got any more o’ that Rhine Castle stuff on tap. 
Old Timer ? ’ 


‘ LORD, GIE MA PATIENCE * 


173 


Ginger kicked the Anzac on the shin in the dark. 

‘ A can mak’ a bit mair if ye like it, Snowy.’ 

‘ Like it, I should think I did ; don’t know how 
the thunder you do it. Do you mix it with your 
food and digest it, or — or how ? ’ 

‘ A get it oot o’ ma brain, no’ oot o’ ma belly, ye 
gommerill. Here’s a wee bittie mair A’ll just dash 
off f’r ye : 

‘ His lady mither by th’ Rhine 
May weep an’ wait about, 

F’r gin A git ma han’s on him, 

A’ll tweest his innards out. 

Twa loomps A’m sittin’ on the’ noo, 

Cry oot wi’ vengefu’ cries, 

An’ yin low doon is fu’ o’ pain, 

Oh, dom yon Junker’s eyes.’ 

‘ That touches the spot, eh, Ginger ? ’ gurgled 
Snowy. 

‘ Ut don’t,’ growled Ginger ; ‘ an’ don’t you touch 
ut wid y’r knee, Snowy ; ut’ll take more’n a plaster 
av home-made poethry ta take th’ pain out o’ my 
lumps.’ 

‘ A ken weel hoo y’r feelin’, Ginger. A saw him 
kick ye, an’, wee laddie, it hurtit ma mair tae see ye 
get it than it did ye ta receive it.’ 

‘ Did ut, sorr ? Thin, bedad, th’ German baste 
must ha’ had double-barrelled boots on.’ 

‘ A ken ; it was th’ hurt ta yer deegnity, wee laddie.’ 

‘ Ut was not, sorr ; ut was th’ hurt to th’ flat part av 
me lower sphinal column. Oi don’t carry me dignity 
down there. You go on insultin’ him wid y’r poethry, 
sorr, if ut aises y’r feelin’s. If Oi have toime Oi’m 
goin’ ter light a fire an’ make him sit on ut.’ 


174 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


‘ Ye’ve a verra vengefu’ speerit, an’ it’s no’ Christian, 
Ginger. F’r masel’ A’ll be content eef A can wring 
him inta a funnel till he’s dry, an’ what’s left ower o’ 
th’ Junker, buckie, we can push through th’ meshes o' 
a barbed-wire fence. Burnin’ people’s no’ a Christian 
way o’ evenin’ oop scores ; we maun be gentle an' 
reasonable in a’ things.’ 

When the guard came on the scene next morning, 
they found Snowy with his knees drawn up to his 
chin, sleeping in the farthest corner away from his 
fellow-prisoners. It was bitterly cold, and he had no 
blankets, but he slept, for he had been nurtured on 
hardship all his days ; not for nothing had he been a 
kangaroo and scalp hunter almost from his cradle. 
They gave him a good breakfast, but the other two 
got little or nothing, so Snowy, to relieve his feelings 
and please the German guard, every now and again 
pelted the other two with scraps of food, calling them 
opprobrious names as he did so, and cadging more 
food from the delighted Huns. 

‘ Yon Snowy’s a clever de’il,’ was Mac’s comment 
to Ginger, as he gathered up the morsels thrown at him, 
and stowed them away for future eating when the 
guard might not be watching. 

Later in the day, when McGlusky was limping round 
the wire-enclosed space set apart for prisoners, the 
Junker officer arrived with a couple of trained hounds 
at his heels. With a cry of malignant pleasure he 
set the hounds upon the big Scot and coursed him like 
a hare round and round the enclosure, the ‘ sport ’ 
bringing tears of joy to the Junker’s eyes and tears 
of blood down McGlusky’s trousers. No one laughed 
so heartily as Snowy, but Ginger was beside himself 


LORD, GIE MA PATIENCE * 


175 


with rage, and seizing an opportunity when one of the 
hounds was snapping at the big man’s legs, he let go 
a kick which caught the trained beast squarely under 
the jaws and sent it rolling. 

‘ Ach, Gott im Himmel ! ’ roared the Junker. ' You 
vant some of ze sport ? You shall haf him.’ And 
forthwith Ginger was started round the enclosure. 

He limped very slowly — at first, because of the boot- 
ing he had previously received, but it is surprising how 
much lameness a human being can forget when a 
couple of savage, snarling wolf dogs are fleshing their 
fangs in his carcase, and Ginger was soon travelling 
like a racehorse. The brutes had been especially trained 
byjheir gentle Junker owner for the pursuit and punish- 
ment of prisoners who might try to escape ; they were 
of the breed the Kaiser used when he went wild-boar 
and wolf hunting in the forests, and for sheer forocity 
no hounds on earth could surpass them. Once Ginger 
tripped and fell, and the pair were upon him instantly, 
and the Irish lad’s obituary notice would have been 
written then and there, had not McGlusky been run- 
ning close by. Then the grinning German soldiery 
obtained an idea of the giant Anzac’s stored-up 
strength. He clasped both arms around the middle 
of the beast that was on top of Ginger, and lifting it 
high above his head, he hurled the animal to earth 
with such crashing violence that, if dogs think, that 
one must have imagined that there was a cyclone in 
the vicinity. The other animal turned from Ginger 
and sprang at McGlusky. And then began a fight 
that was reminiscent of the ancient Roman arena in 
the gladiatorial days. The hounds used claws and 
fangs, and launched themselves headlong at the 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


176 

Scotch Anzac, and he used boots and fists. He forgot 
the grinning, gaping crowd, forgot Ginger, and all 
else in the mad lust of the fight ; he v/as prehistoric 
man, a cave-man battling with brute forces. When 
he drove his fist into lean ribs and rolled a howling 
beast over, his big voice would boom forth exultantly : 
‘ That’s yin f’r Windy Wullie ! ’ and then, dashing 
forward and nearly putting his boot through the belly 
of the other animal, he’d loose the Anzac battle-yell 
and chant : ‘ Yin f’r auld Bill, the balmy butcher, 
an’ yin f’r his unclean spawn Wee Wullie, th’ degener- 
ate ! ’ And the Junker, who had been joined by a 
group of his own detestable class, gnashed his teeth 
and yelled the hounds on : ' Ach, at him, Fritz, on 
to him, Kaspar ! ’ 

How the carnival of brutality would have ended it 
is hard to say, for the joy was not all with the hounds. 
They had grown weary, and were circling round the 
tattered warrior with fangs bared and hair bristling, 
when a man in civilian clothes came upon the scene. 

‘ Say, whose dogs are they ? ’ His voice rasped 
with the Yankee accent. 

The Junkers scowled at the speaker, but no one 
answered. The hounds were closing in on a smaller 
circle, when the American, producing an automatic 
pistol in the manner of one who never fools with fire- 
arms, snapped out : 

* I guess you know who I am. Call those dogs off, 
or ’ 

He jerked the pistol up in a businesslike way, and 
covered ‘ Kaspar.’ 

‘ Goin’ to call those curs off ? You’d better ; I 
never miss/ 


' LORD, GIE MA PATIENCE’ 


1 77 


The menace in his eyes made his words doubly 
impressive. The Junker whistled his animals off, 
muttering something about a dangerous prisoner 
who had tried to escape. McGlusky, with a couple 
of quick strides, went to Ginger, and picked him up, 
crooning over him like a baby. The American turned 
and looked at Snowy, who still had a grin on his face 
like a lost sunbeam. A wave of cold contempt swept 
over the American’s features. 

‘ Well, son,’ he snarled, ‘ you’re about the limit, 
laughing at a comrade’s danger ; I thought they bred 
men where you come from.’ 

The sharpshooter’s mouth with its turned down 
corners took on a sardonic smile. 

‘ None o’ my circus, Yank ; an’ anyway I had a 
front seat, hadn’t I, eh ? ’ 

‘ You really enjoyed seeing a fellow-countryman 
getting hurt ?’ 

‘ Well, the Old Timer was gettin’ his share of what 
was going, wasn’t he ? What’s your song about ? 
Why don’t you spread the American eagle over him ? ’ 
‘ I’d like to spread a dog- whip over you, son.’ 
f I’m always lookin’ f’r new experiences, mister.’ 
The American gave Snowy a glance that ought 
to have burnt him black, even if Egypt and Australia 
had not tanned him as tough as leather, and turned 
away. The Junkers, all of whom understood enough 
English to follow the conversation, were delighted by 
Snowy’s insolent manners and words to so great a 
personage, and one of them threw him a packet of 
tobacco, much as he would have tossed a bone to a 
dog. The sharpshooter caught it, and his joy was 
so manifest that even the surly guards smiled ; how 


12 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


178 

were they to know that Mac and Ginger between 
them would smoke every scrap of that tobacco in the 
still watches of the night ? But so it was, for as soon 
as it was safe Snowy crawled over to the tormented 
pair and passed on the spoil. 

‘ Feelin’ bad, kid ? ' 

‘ Och, no, Shnowy ; Oi alwis wanted ter be a circus 
performer ; now Oi am wan ; but whin Oi go in f’r th’ 
thrade proper, Oi’m goin’ ter perform wid lions ; Oi'm 
— Oi’m fed up wid dogs.’ 

The invincible spirit of the lad woke Snowy’s 
admiration. 

‘ You’re the gamest bit o’ stuff f’r yer weight I know 
of, kid.’ 

' Aw, cut ut out, Shnowy ; yer talkin’ like a gramo- 
phone record.’ 

McGlusky soothed the youngster with strange gentle- 
ness for one so rough and crude. 

‘ You got what was coming to you to-day, Old Timer.' 

' A got what was brought ta ma, Snowy, an’ A gie’d 
some change back. A weesh it had been th’ Junker 
instead o’ th’ dawgs.’ 

‘ I don’t — you’d have killed him, an’ they’d have 
bayoneted you, an’ — I want that Junker to be a long 
time dying ; I wouldn’t put him out of business to- 
night if I had my rifle and had fifty chances to put 
his light out ; when he goes west he’s goin’ by inches, 
if I have my way.’ 

The cold concentrated fury in Snowy’s usually 
droll voice was another page in the mysteries of human 
nature which Ginger learnt in that minute, and he 
thought he knew Snowy. By and by, in spite of 
his pain, Ginger chuckled. 


‘LORD, GIE MA PATIENCE ' 


179 


‘ Dog medicine seems ta agree wi’ ye, wee mannie.' 

‘ It do not, sorr,' came the emphatic response, ‘ but, 
sorr, there’s three of us wants th’ Junker.’ 

‘ A’m no’ deesputin’ it, mannie, but A canna see 
why ye mak’ a noise like a hen that’s been layin’ awa’ 
frae home.’ 

* Do yez moind Murrimbidgee, th’ card sharp ? ’ 

‘ A dae — weel, what o’ him ? ’ 

Ginger chuckled again. 

‘ He’d throw down three cards an’ say “ pick th' 
lady.” ’ 

‘ He’ll be daein’ that in heaven or the ither place, 
A'm theenkin’.’ 

‘ Och, thin, sorr, if we three get th’ Junker, it’ll 
puzzle him ter pick th’ lady, Oi’m thinkin’.’ 

‘ A’ll dae th’ pickin’ f'r him when we get him, ma 
certie, A wull ; dae ye ken yin o’ his dawgs got awa’ 
wi’ a bit o’ ma anatomy that it is no’ respec’fu' ta 
name ? ’ 

‘ Much of it, Old Timer ? ’ 

‘ Na, no’ mooch, on’y aboot a poond ; th' de’il 
came ahint ma when A was beesy wi’ his mate; A 
didn’t ken hoo fond A was o’ masel’ till A lost that 
loomp, but A’ll ha’ it back if I ha’ tae bite it oot o' 
yon Junker buckie.' 


CHAPTER IX 
THE DAWN OF HOPE 


F OR many days the prisoners were left in peace, 
and the sharpshooter dressed the wounds of his 
friends, for the good Samaritan who had befriended 
them at first had returned and had charge of them. 
One evening he whispered to Ginger : 

1 If you fellows think of escaping, you’d better do 
it to-night.’ 

‘ Why ? ’ 

* The officer who likes not you and the big man 
returns to-morrow, and he will make it not nice for 
you. Ach, when this war is ended, we, the people, 
will make it not nice for him and all his class. They 
are swine, these cursed Junkers ; what the French 
did to their Junkers in the great Revolution will seem 
child’s play to what we will do to ours when the time 
comes.’ 

That night the three held a council of war, and 
Snowy told how he had made use of his friendship 
with the soldiers to purloin many things that might 
be useful when the hour came to bolt. 

‘I’ve two knives and a chopper/ he explained. 

‘ Ye may gi’e ma th’ wee bit chopper,’ suggested 
McGlusky. ' A dinna want ta boast, but A’m maist 

180 


THE DAWN OF HOPE 


181 


certain tlT mon A hit wi’ it will no’ fash aboot who 
wins tlT war. A’m handy wi’ a chopper, ye ken, 
havin’ been a bushman maist o’ ma days. Where 
is it noo, Snowy ? ’ 

' Down the leg o’ my pants, Old Timer.’ 

4 Weel, eef we start wi’ a chopper an’ twa knives, 
A’m theenkin’ it won’t be long before we’ll ha’ all 
th’ weapons we want. A’ll tap th’ first sentry A meet 
on th’ head wi’ it, and yin o’ ye can dress in his uniform, 
hairnet an' a’.’ 

‘ Simple as bitin’ a bun ! If once we get into Ger- 
man uniforms the rest will be easy, Old Timer, but 
when you tap a sentry with the chopper, don't go and 
spoil the helmet — one of us will have to wear it.’ 

1 Why not make a jump out to-night. ? Oi don’t 
want that Junker manhandlin’ me any more while 
Oi’m a prisoner,’ pleaded Ginger. 

McGlusky’s voice, low and full of deadly menace, 
made reply. 

' Na, wee mannie, no’ th’ nicht ; A'm gawn ta wait 
till A see that spawn o’ evil again ; A hae it in ma 
bones th’ Lord will provide a way f’r ma ta get even 
wi’ him ; A hear th' sma’ wee voice o’ providence whees- 
perin’ in ma soul like a wheesper in a dream.' 

‘ Faith, sorr, an’ so do Oi, an’ my whisperin’ voice 
says: “Hop ut, ye damn fool, hop ut, before the 
Junker makes ye play rabbit to his dogs.” ’ 

‘ The voice ye hear. Ginger, is a voice fra the pit ; 
mine is th’ voice o’ inspiration. A’m no’ goin’ till 
A ha’ lookit yince mair in th’ face o’ ma persecutor ; 
maybe th’ Lord wull deleever him inta ma han’, an’ 
A’ll bind him an' gag him an’ carry him into oor fines.’ 

Snowy groaned aloud, for he knew that if Mac had 


182 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


got hold of the idea that * voices * were directing him, 
no influence on earth would turn his cranky will from 
its fixed purpose. 

' Och, you an’ yer spirit voices, sorr,’ grumbled 
Ginger. ‘ Oi suppose if yez heard wan av thim tellin’ 
ye ta walk into German head-quarters an’ pick up Bill 
Kaiser by th’ scruff an’ cart him to our lines, ye’d be 
afther doin’ ut ? ’ 

* A wud,’ answered Mac quietly. ‘ Didn’t Samson 
hear th' voice tellin’ him ta arm himsel’ wi’ th’ jaw- 
bone an’ go an’ knock hell out o’ an army of Philis- 
tines ? ’ 

' Oi belave that was a pipe drame, or — or else thim 
Philistines couldn’t scrap f’r toffy ; th’ only wans who 
can slay people wid asses’ jawbones is lawyers, 
sorr.’ 

* A’m goin’ ta stay,’ was all McGlusky’s reply to 
this tirade, and the others had perforce to fall into 
step with his humour, but Ginger looked forward 
with dread to the morrow. 

‘ Oi’ll be dramin’ dogs allth’ blessed night, Shnowy,’ 
he lamented, and the sharpshooter’s heart went out 
to him in sympathy, for he had dressed the savage 
wounds the hounds had made. True to expectations 
the Junker appeared on the scene on the following 
morning, and the malevolent grin he gave the captives 
boded no good for them. 

' Nice kind man, eh ? ’ commented Snowy ; ' won- 
der what he’s got up his sleeve ? * 

Ginger exploded into sweating profanity, but Mc- 
Glusky said nothing ; he just sat there with a faraway 
look in his eyes and a beatific smile on his lips. 

* Give you a bob f'r yer thoughts, Old Timer ; you 


THE DAWN OF HOPE 


183 

look as sweet an’ happy as a kid sucking a sugar- 
stick.’ 

* A was theenkin’ o’ yon Junker, buckie.’ 

‘ Shouldn’t have guessed that would make you 
happy.’ 

‘ Y’r oot in y’r reckonin’, Snowy ; it made ma verra 
happy. A was plannin’ hoo A’d be able to han’le 
him masel’ when A tak’ him inta oor lines. Ye ken, 
th’ General won’t let ma ha’ ma will o’ him ; he’ll 
treat him as a prisoner o’ war ; so A’ll no' let any one 
ken A ha’ th’ buckie, then he’ll be mine ta dae wi’ as 
A wull.’ 

' Got a programme mapped out f’r th’ Junker ? ’ 

' A ha’. It’s no’ a bad programme — f’r me, but A’m 
theenkin’ he’d no’ like it.’ 

1 You surprise me, Old Timer. I should have thought 
you’d consult the Junker’s feelin’s.’ 

* A wull. Ye were never in Afghanistan, were ye, 
Snowy ? ’ 

‘No.’ 

‘ A was, an’ them hill men know mair ways o’ makin’ 
a mon die than any one A ken aboot ; an'. Snowy, 
they niver waste anything, an’ — A’m no’ goin' ter 
waste this Junker beastie.’ He pushed his face close 
to Snowy’s, and his throat rumbled. ‘ Buckie, A’m 
goin’ ta flay him an’ mak’ a saddle oot o’ his skin ; 
he made dogs’ meat oot o' some o’ mine ; he’ll no’ 
be wastit, gin A ha’ ma will o’ him.’ 

‘ No,' murmured Snowy, ' he won’t be wasted, 
but it’s not an original idea, Old Timer ; it’s not the 
first time a saddle’s been made out o’ pigskin.' 

‘ A kenned weel ye’d unnerstan’ ma, Snowy ; we 
air th' meenisters o’ justice ; we’ll no' do aught in 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


184 

malice ; we’ll do oor duty all in order, but we’ll dae 
it ; th’ mon that wudn’a ought ta gie his breeks tae 
a dustman, wear petticoats an’ ca’ himsel’ a flapper.’ 

That evening the Junker gave a dinner to some 
of his friends ; the wine, cigars, and most of the eat- 
ables had been looted from French houses. As the 
feast wore on, and the wine-cup passed more swiftly, 
the Junkers demanded sport, and the host shouted : 

‘ Bring in those Anzac dogs, and see if we can’t 
get s6me sport out of them,’ and the three comrades 
were dragged to the festive board. 

The host met them with a curse. 

‘ You wait upon me and my guests, and when you 

get an order, attend to it in double quick time, or ’ 

He did not finish the sentence ; there was no need ; 
his cruel eyes were eloquent enough. 

Some one shouted for wine, and Snowy coolly and 
quickly attended to it. One of the guests, a cavalry 
officer, flung a champagne cork in his face, and Snowy 
smiled as if that were the kind of treatment he relished 
more than anything else on earth. He had made up 
his mind that nothing short of attempted murder 
should make him lose his temper, but if things got as 
far as that, he would use the ‘ chopper ’ that hung 
down the leg of his trousers. McGlusky and Ginger 
also worked hard to avoid giving cause for complaint, 
but once an officer knocked the bottle Mac was filling 
a glass from with his elbow, and a drop or two of rich 
burgundy was spilt upon the officer’s cuff. He half 
rose and brought the back of his hand across Mc- 
Glusky’s mouth. 

‘ That will teach you to be careful in future — remem- 
ber it.’ 


THE DAWN OF HOPE 


i85 


‘ A wull, sir.’ 

That was the only reply he made, but his comrades 
knew by the tremor in his voice how the insult stung 
him. A little later the host shouted to Mac : 

‘ You pigs come from Kangaroo-land, don’t you ? ’ 

* A do — sir.’ 

* Well, curse you, show us how a kangaroo hops ; 
go on, up and down the room.’ 

The big Anzac went brickdust red in the face, but 
Snowy gave him a warning glance, and at the same 
instant turned his eyes on Ginger. The look said as 
plainly as words, ‘ Do it for the kid’s sake,’ and Mc- 
Glusky, holding his two hands out as a kangaroo holds 
its forepaws, hopped the full length of the room, 
though the wounds made by the teeth of the hounds 
gave him agony all the time. The exhibition pleased 
the bullies ; they roared with laughter, and soon com- 
pelled Snowy and Ginger to join McGlusky in kan- 
garoo-hopping, and the gallant Junkers, most of 
whom had run like hares in front of Anzac steel on 
the battle-field, yelled with merriment, and pelted 
the prisoners with corks and half rolls of bread, and 
any handy thing that lay around, until they wearied 
of the amusement. Then they sent a corporal out 
in search of singers to help pass the time, and in the 
confusion McGlusky got close to Snowy and whis- 
pered : 

' Gie ma th’ wee bit chopper, buckie, an’ A’ll gang 
amang ’em for a wee bittie ; if A dinna get them a', 
ye may ca’ ma an auld spaewife. A’ll show ’em what 
a kangaroo jump is like when A leap ower yon table 
an’ fa’ on ta them.’ 

‘ Not on your life. Think o’ th’ kid.’ 


i86 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


‘Tell Ginger ta mak’ a bolt inta tlT nicht.’ 

‘ An’ leave you here in a scrap ? I think I see 
him doin’ it/ 

‘ There’s only nine o’ them, an’ yin swat each wi’ 
th’ chopper wud ’ 

‘ Don’t go seein’ red, Old Timer ; I’ve a hunch we’ll 
get a better chance than this.’ 

A soldier began to sing ; it was the good Samaritan, 
and Ginger remembered how the man had sung in 
the trenches. Song after song he sang until his fine 
baritone got thick and hoarse. He sang of war, and 
wine, and women, and still they shouted for more. 
Suddenly the man remembered Ginger’s voice, and 
thinking that if the Irish lad could only succeed in 
pleasing the half-drunken bullies he might make 
things easier for himself and his comrades, he saluted 
respectfully and spoke of the youngster’s gift of song. 
Then, to his unutterable disgust, Ginger was bidden 
to enliven the feast. 

‘ Sing Irish songs, boy,’ whispered the good Samari- 
tan. 

So, with a sullen face, the young soldier stood forth 
and sang. They were brute beasts, those Junkers, 
but they knew good music when they heard it, and 
in spite of his environment Ginger could not help 
singing well, and gave them freely of his rich store of 
rebel minstrelsy. After a time one tormentor de- 
manded of McGlusky : 

' Can you sing ? ’ 

' A ha’ n’ a tunefu’ gift — sir.’ 

‘ Can you play any musical instrument ? ' 

' A can mak’ a joyfu’ noise on th’ bagpipe — sir.’ 

It was an unhappy allusion, for the officer and his 


THE DAWN OF HOPE 


187 

regiment had had to face a bayonet charge by the 
London Scottish only two days before, and the kilties, 
had been played into battle by their gallant piper. 
The Junker officer had seen his men break and run 
before that irresistible storm of steel, and he himself 
had not been the last to reach safety in German 
trenches. With an oath he dashed the contents of 
his glass in McGlusky’s face, and followed the liquor 
with the glass. As McGlusky reeled back, Snowy 
heard him gasp : ‘ Hoo long, O Lord, hoo long ? ' 

' What did the big beast say ? ’ demanded the 
Junker, his hand on his sword-hilt. 

Snowy, whose clever head was like a snow bank 
in a crisis, rose to the emergency in unfaltering fashion. 
' He said he was sorry if he annoyed you, sir.' 

The Junker spat in McGlusky’s face, and sat down 
heavily. 

' Th' chopper, th' wee bit chopper ; A hear ma. 
speerit voices sayiiT '* dae it noo, dae it noo.” ’ 

For a moment the gallant sharpshooter wavered ; 
his own bitter blood was boiling, then he squared 
himself. 

‘ Take a pull, Old Timer; wait till I get a chance to do 
in the sentries, then you can gorge yourself on the rest/ 
The host at that moment struck a whimsical idea : 
pointing to a heavy harp, part of the loot from some 
refined French home, he motioned McGlusky to sit 
and play an accompaniment for Ginger. 

* A canna play a dom tune wi' it/ whispered Mac. 

' Never mind, make a row/ cooed Snowy. 

' Now, you know what our U-boats did to the 
Lusitania and hundreds more British ships ? ' 

'All the woide world knows — sorr/ 


.188 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


f We’re blockading the British and starving them. 
Does Britannia rule the waves ? Does she, gentle- 
men ? Does Britannia rule the waves any more ? ’ 

A yell broke from the Junkers, a yell of derision 
and black hate. 

' Sing this cursed song, sing it,” stormed the host, 

* and you,’ turning to McGlusky, ' play for him.’ 

McGlusky twisted his fingers round the harp strings 
and pulled as if he were pulling a waggon wheel out 
of a mud hole, and succeeded in making unholy noises, 
whilst Ginger lifted up his voice and sang the song 
the Germans have hated for nearly a hundred years, 

* Britannia Rules the Waves/ The Junkers joined 
in the singing with devilish mockery. Then they 
substituted * Germans ’ for ' Britons,’ and made 
Ginger do the same, and they sung it standing, with 
beakers of wine held high over their heads, and 
finished by giving three cheers for the murderers 
of women and children ; they were so proud of their 
woman and baby-killers, they could not help cheering. 

An orderly came with a message for the host from 
some one in authority ; he rose, buckled on his sword 
and left, but the other Junkers kept up the carouse. 
Ginger was bidden to sing again, and he made the 
room throb with rebel melodies the drunken cobbler 
had taught him in childhood. 

' You are Irish ; why do you fight for the 

English ? ’ 

The words came in guttural tones from the mouth 
of a stout major. 

* Och, Oi had ter foight, or — or starve, sorr.’ 

‘ Will you fight with our men ? ’ 

' Bedad Oi will, sorr, whin Oi have a chanct.’ 


THE DAWN OF HOPE 189 

Ginger was telling the literal truth, but he did not 
mean quite the same thing as the major. 

‘ Will you drink the Kaiser’s health ? ’ 

‘ Oi will, sorr. Sorra’s th’ day he was ivver druv 
into war by — by th’ powers av evil.’ 

' A’m shamed f’r the wee laddie,’ murmured Mc- 
Glusky. 

' Ring off, Old Timer. I wish they’d ask me. I’d 
drink to the Kaiser or satan himself ; I’m dry, I am/ 

The major poured a bumper of rich red wine. 

* Here, drink health to our Kaiser.’ 

Ginger grasped the flagon, raised it to his lips, and 
into his mind flashed the oath he had given the staff 
officer behind the British lines, never under any cir- 
cumstances to drink liquor whilst the war lasted. 
His hand went down, some of the wine spilled on the 
floor ; he, the most inveterate young liar in the army, 
could keep an oath. Angry voices rang in his ears,, 
savage faces glared upon him. He tried to explain 
— a blow on the mouth silenced him, and the red wine 
went on spilling. Snowy, who knew of Ginger’s: 
pledge, stepped forward jauntily and lied that Ginger 
might keep his vow. 

' It was a vow to his priest ; if he breaks it, he’ll 
never get out of purgatory ; it’s — it’s a top hole holy' 
vow, sir ; he — he swore it to save his father from 
being hanged.’ 

‘ Drink to the Kaiser.’ 

The Junker major was on his feet, his sword-point 
at Ginger’s chest ; the beast was half-drunk and 
wholly savage, and Ginger knew that if he did not 
drink the toast the steel would go through him. 

* Drink to our Kaiser.’ The sword arm went back 
ready for the lunge. 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


190 

‘ To hell wid yer Kayser.' 

The young voice like a silver bugle shrilled the insult 
and defiance, and goblet and wine went into the 
major’s face. Then Snowy, the ice man, the im- 
perturbable, level-headed Snowy of Anzac, hoisted 
a chopper from the leg of his trousers, and the major 
rolled under the table. 

McGlusky leapt to his feet. ‘ Yin ! ’ he yelled, as 
lie saw the chopper descend. Then, having no other 
weapon handy, he whirled the harp aloft, and beat 
•down the sentry at the door, and as he did so that 
Junker entered who had coursed him with dogs. The 
harp fell upon him and crumpled him into a sitting 
posture, though it had missed his head and fallen 
upon his shoulders. * Ye wanted music, ma buckie ’ 
— the harp came upon the Junker’s body again ; ‘ A’m 
th’ sweet singer o’ Israel.’ Why dinna ye sing, A’ll 
'company ye wf ma harp. Once more the instru- 
ment, that had once been the joy of a home, came 
down on the bent back of the Junker, and if he liked 
his melody served up in that fashion, he must have 
been a glutton for harmony. McGlusky could have 
killed the brute, but he had promised himself that 
this man’s passing should not be either swift or pleas- 
ant ; the insults, the injuries and the degradations 
the Scot Anzac had received were rankling in his bar- 
baric soul, and he meant to get his own back measure 
for measure, and a little over in the shape of interest. 

Meantime Snowy was busy with the tomahawk 
amongst the half-drunken officers. No ten-stone 
boxer in the universe was faster on his feet than the 
sharpshooter, and his splendid physical condition 
•added to his natural speed. He was in a white fury 


THE DAWN OF HOPE 


191 


of rage, yet he never lost his head, for he knew that 
what he had to do must be done quickly before the 
uproar brought assistance to his foes. Ginger had 
drawn the knife that Snowy had purloined and 
given him, and he fought like a hell-cat. The Junkers, 
when full of wine, had taken off their sword-belts 
which also carried their revolvers, and a servant had 
removed belts and weapons to a table at the far end 
of the room, and between them and that table were 
Ginger and Snowy — armed. The good Samaritan 
could have helped the Junkers, but he did not ; Ger- 
man though he was, he hated his overlords with veno- 
mous hatred. Had they not struck, bullied and kicked 
him when in the ranks, even when he was doing his 
best, fighting the English and French ? Had not 
one of them pistolled his youngest brother for a slight 
breach of discipline which any sane officer would have 
overlooked in so young and raw a soldier ? He remem- 
bered all those things against his overlords, and did 
not lift a hand to save them, nor did he raise an out- 
cry. The seeds, that tyranny had sown ripened and 
bore fruit in that hour, and it was well for the Anzacs 
that they did. Soldiers within hearing of the din 
only shrugged their shoulders and said one to the 
other : ‘ The Herr officers are doing themselves well 
to-night ; that French wine must be good stuff ; the 
Junkers are having a high old time/ 

They were. Ginger snarled as he stabbed. Mc- 
Glusky quoted Scripture and slabs of poetry, as he 
made his harp sing. Snowy made no sound ; his 
breath whistled through his nostrils, and the toma- 
hawk thudded, that was all, and he never struck twice 
at the same man — he had no need. 


192 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


The Junkers, finding they could not reach their 
weapons, made a rush for the door, and met McGlusky. 
The fury of battle was on the big man now ; he whirled 
the harp around his head, as if it had been a feather 
pillow, and crashed it down on bare heads, chanting : 

■ Th’ harp o’ th’ Lord in th’ han’ o’ a mon 
Brings peace ta th’ bruised an’ broken ; 

Dance, buckies, dance to th’ tune A play, 

F’r so hath th’ Lord God spoken. 

Mak’ a joyfu’ noise ta th’ tune o’ ma harp, 

Dinna slobber an’ scream an’ yell. 

Ye’ll dance th’ noo ta a hotter tune 
In y’r hame on th’ hobs o’ hell.’ ^ 

‘ The Herr Junkers are making the big prisoner 
sing, and hear how they are yelling ; he must be pleasing 
them,’ remarked a German soldier to a comrade some 
distance from the banquet -room in the village. 

' Bah, those Junkers, they drink too much wine 
when they get hold of loot, and little they care if we 
get food or not ; they are swine, those Junkers,’ was 
the comrade’s snarling reply. 

All at once the noise in the banquet-room ceased ; 
the Anzacs’ work was done ; quickly they changed 
into German uniforms ; then, buckling on swords and 
revolvers, they turned to go. At the door McGlusky 
stopped and picked up the Junker who had hunted 
him with dogs. 

' Drop him, Old Timer.’ 

‘ Na, Snowy ; there’s lots o’ life in him yet ; A didna’ 
kill him.’ 

‘ We can’t take him with us.’ 

‘ A can, an’ A wull. A pay ma debts in full — this 
yin’s only been half paid.’ 


THE DAWN OF HOPE 


193 


It was no use arguing with the big man in that 
mood, so his comrades marched out at his heels, and 
the few German soldiers who caught sight of the pro- 
cession laughed, for they thought it was the Junkers 
carrying a comrade loaded to the lips with wine. 

At the end of the village street a sentry challenged. 
McGlusky grunted in reply, and pushed on. The sen- 
try could make out officers’ uniforms in the starlight. 

' The Herr Officer will give the password.' 

McGlusky dropped his hand to his sword-hilt and 
the soldier stepped on one side ; he knew how drunken 
officers treated private soldiers who thwarted them. 
Snowy whispered to Ginger : 

‘ Stagger a bit as if you’re drunk, kid,’ and suiting 
the action to his words, he half tripped and lurched 
against the sentry. Then the three fugitives passed on. 

' Drunken swine,’ growled the sentry, ‘ they’d cut 
me down if I interfered with them, and yet if they 
knew I let any one else pass without the “ word,” 
they'd put me against the wall double quick — damn 
the Junkers.’ 

A little way from the German lines there stood the 
remnant of what had once been a fine French forest ; 
shells from the allied armies and from the Germans 
had each in turn wrought sad havoc with it ; most 
of the trees were leafless, stripped bare by the storm 
winds raised by the flying projectiles, for each army 
had in turn occupied it, as also had the French ; it 
was at this juncture a sort of no-man’s country, lying 
between the advance posts of the foes. Towards this 
skeleton of a forest McGlusky steered his way, and 
at last the Anzac party reached it. 

* A’m theenkin’ we’re safe noo/ grunted the Scot 

13 


194 GINGER AND McGLUSKY 

as he cast his living burden none too gently to the 
ground. 

The Junker protested, saying this was no way to 
treat an officer and a gentleman. 

‘ A’m no denyin’ ye may be conseedered a gentle- 
man where ye were raised,’ remarked Mac judicially, 
* but a decent hog wudn’a claim ye as kin in any ither 
land ; dinna open yer mooth agin, ma buckie, or A’ll 
push th’ spike o’ yer helmet inta it ta keep yer teeth 
company.’ 

‘ I’m a prisoner of war, and ’ 

‘ Ye air that, ye misbegotten beastie.’ 

' I — I claim Christian treatment due to my rank 
for ’ 

‘ Y’r goin’ ta get Chreestian treatment — my kind o’ 
Chreestianity, an’ A believe in daein’ unta a mon as he 
does ta me an’ ma comrades ; ye’ll ha’ nothing ta com- 
plain aboot in regard ta short rations when A pay ma 
debt tae ye ; ye theenk a’ th’ rest o’ mankind is mud 
an’ ye an’ yer class air pure potter’s clay, dom ye, 
dom ye ; A’m| gawn ta expand yer education on 
deemocratic lines before A part wi’ ye.’ 

The Junker whined to Snowy, but that gentle 
youth gave him small comfort, saying : 

* You gave us merry hell when you were top dog, 
cully, an’ we’ll fry your bacon on both sides to make 
even ; I’m not strong on prayer myself, but if I was 
you, I’d begin sayin’ all the little things I learnt when a 
kid — you’ll need ’em. We’re bad forgetters, we Anzacs.’ 

‘ Specially whin th’ dog bites is fresh,’ supplemented 
Ginger, who was aching all over. 

When the trio were about to recommence their 
march, Snowy suggested that he and Ginger between 


THE DAWN OF HOPE 


195 

them should carry the prisoner for a bit, or else make 
him walk. 

‘ Ye wull no’/ snapped McGlusky ; ‘ he's mine, an' 
A’ll no' part wi’ a hair o’ him ; it gives ma joy ta feel 
him on ma shoulder. A’ve longit wi’ a longin’ un- 
speakable ta get a good grup 0’ him these many days ; 
nivver did a bridegroom grup a bride wi’ a daintier 
thrill o’ rich pleasure than A grup him. A can feel 
him groanin’ in his innards a’ th’ time, f’r he’s a cooard ; 
he has no’ th’ spunk ta bite on th’ bullet an’ die like a 
fechter.’ 

* Shnowy,’ chuckled Ginger, ‘ och, Shnowy, what 
a murtherin’ pity y’r not a fay male ! ’ 

‘ Think so, kid ? Why ? ’ 

‘ Th’ Auld Toimer’s fond av yez, Snowy, an’ he 
might make yez his bride if yez was av th’ faymale 
persuasion ; ye heard what he said about huggin' 
brides just now.’ 

‘ Yes,’ drawled Snowy ; ‘ I guess he’d make a gentle 
lover ; he’d embrace his bride like a steam winch.’ 

* A steam winch’s a fool to him. Oi saw him hug 
wan av our London landladies ; he said he was only 
illusthratin’ a bit poem he’d wrote her.’ 

‘ What did she say, Ginger ? ’ 

‘ Och, she did not say anything for about two hours — 
she cudden’t. Me an’ a faymale boarder had ter 
work her by th’ arrums an’ legs like a pump ter get 
wind enough in her f’r a spache, an’ thin she said she’d 
rather be run over by a fire engine than go through 
ut again.’ 

‘ So would this Junker he’s carryin’, I'll bet, Ginger.’ 

In this way the comrades passed through the wood, 
McGlusky crooning in religious ecstasy : 


196 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


' Lord, all thy ways air wonnerfu’, 

Though at times we doot thy grace, 

As A did when this Junker buckie 
Blunted his spurs upon ma face. 

But noo A ha’ him in ma han’ 

A see thy won’rous plan, 

Ye’ve gie’d him ower ta ma han’ 

Ta mak’ th’ de’il a man.’ 

The Junker, carried on that hefty shoulder, did little 
but moan and curse for a good part of the journey, 
then in a panic of sheer despair he suddenly wriggled 
half out of the Scot’s grip, and tearing off the helmet 
Mac wore jauntily over one ear, he seized the spike and 
using the helmet like a hammer on the hard skull he 
beat McGlusky to his knees. But dazed as he was by 
the unexpected onslaught, Mac’s hate was too snow 
cold to let him lose his prisoner. Twining his gaunt 
arms round the Junker’s hips, he brought him down, 
and then sitting astride his adversary, he did things 
to him with his helmet until Ginger interfered, saying : 

‘ Bedad, sorr, sthop ut, y’r lettin’ th' baste die too 
aisy.’ 

' Y’r richt, wee laddie, it is too easy — f’r him, but 
gin he were a decent body he’d no’ be complainin’ o’ 
th’ saftness o’ his departure fra this world o’ sin.' 

' Are you hurt yourself, Old Timer ? ' 

' Weel na, A’m no’ what ye ma ca’ hurtit, Snowy, 
but th’ bash he dinged ma ower ma skull wi’ th’ helmet 
has ta’en awa’ a cravin’ A had f’r ’ma breakfast ; but 
A dinna blame him f’r tryin’ to get awa’ ; it’s th’ first 
manly thing th’ buckie’s done since A kenned him.’ 

* We must be near our lines now, sorr, an’ ut will 
soon be daybreak. Are yez goin’ ter take th’ baste 


THE DAWN OF HOPE 


197 

inside ? If yez do he’ll be sent ter Blighty an’ treated 
like a prince.’ 

There was a pause ; then Mac remarked : 

‘ A’ve gie’d th’ matter ma conseederation, wee 
laddie ; A’m theenkin’ we’ll mislay th’ spawn o’ evil.’ 

‘ How, sorr ? ’ 

* A’m no’ sure, but A have it in ma bones th’ Lord 
o’ justice wad na ha put ma ta th’ trouble o’ cartin’ 
this Junker a’ this way ta let him gang ta Blighty ta 
be fed on corn cakes an’ wine, an’ a’ manner o’ dom 
fulishness ; it wad no' be just, an’ justice, not love, 
is th’ root o’ a’ good in th’ universe. A’m sure in ma 
bones th’ Lord has a plan ta fit this son o’ Belial.’ 

* If the Lord hasn’t, I have,’ cooed Snowy, half 
drawing the sword he had been wearing with great 
discomfort to himself ever since his escape. 

* We’re near th’ Breetish edge o’ th’ wood, ma 
laddies ; let us sit doon an’ wait f’r th’ fu’ dawn, f’r 
if a patrol sees us in these togs we’ll be filled wi’ lead 
before we can explain th’ seetuation, especially eef 
we come across a new draft ; it’s th’ way o’ recruities 
ta be ower quick on th' trigger.’ 

' I’d sooner go rat-huntin’ in a magazine with a 
lighted fire stick than bump into a new draft sud- 
denly in any uniform,’ cooed the sharpshooter. 

‘ Oi saw wan lot av recruities charge a hay-stack 
wid th’ bay ’nit in th’ starlight ; they said they thought 
ut was cavalry, an’ th’ C.O. said he’d haff a mind ter 
tie ’em up to ut an’ make ’em ate ut.’ 

‘ Stop, Ginger,’ growled McGlusky ; * A ken th’ Lord 
loveth a cheerfu’ leear in seasons o’ sickness an’ sor- 
row, but, wee mannie, y’r too dom cheerfu’ a’ th* 
year roond wi’ y’r lees.’ 


CHAPTER X 

THE ANZACS’ EWE LAMB 
S the three comrades rested, waiting for the dawn. 



i-i conversation drifted on to theological subjects, 
as it so often did when McGlusky and Ginger made 
two of the congregation, the Scot arguing that justice 
in the shape of retribution was the keystone of the 
arch of all things, a thesis Ginger would not accept 
without argument. 

‘ If God believes in justice, sorr, why do some men 
have all th’ honey av life an’ some all th’ gall av ut ? ’ 

' It’s — it’s part o’ th’ plan, mannie.’ 

* Oi don’t know th’ plan, sorr, but Oi’m seekin’ 
knowledge.’ 

McGlusky began to squirm, for he knew Ginger in 
the guise of a seeker after truth, and Snowy grinned 
silently. 

* Tell me, sorr, if this is justice : two children are 
bom th’ wan night, wan is born blind in poverty an’ 
misery,. th’ other is born wid good eyes an’ health, in 
th’ midst av riches, born wid a rose in his mouth an’ 
a gould spoon in each fist, so to spake.’ 

‘ Weel, mannie ? ’ 

* If God was just as yerself says, sorr, an’ wan av 
thim kiddies had ter be born blind f’r th’ sake av th’ 
plan yez spoke av, wouldn’t ut be only fair if th’ 
blind kiddie had th’ money an’ th’ crame av loife ter 

198 


THE ANZACS’ EWE LAMB 


199 

make up. f’r the loss av his eyes ? Why give all to 
wan an’ nothing to th’ other ? ’ 

‘ Perhaps th’ wean suffers f’r th’ sins o’ its fathers, 
mannie.’ 

‘ Och, an’ indade, sorr, Oi didn’t think av that. Do 
dogs sin, sorr ? ’ 

‘ No, Ginger, dogs ha’ no’ th’ moral sense 0’ richt 
an’ wrong ; they canna sin.’ 

‘ Does a dog represint loife, sorr ? ' 

‘ A form o’ life, yes, laddie.’ 

‘ An’ God made all life, sorr ? ’ 

‘ Yes, but A dinna want a deesquiseetion on sic 
things th’ noo ; ma head is too sair fra th’ knock th’ 
Junker loon gie’d it wi’ the helmet.’ 

But Ginger would not be denied. 

' Tell me, sorr, why is wan dog born to lie in a lady’s 
lap an’ another ter be grubbin’ in th’ gutters f’r scraps 
all uts loife, an’ ter die shiverin’ on a doorstep at th’ 
finish, seein’ ut can’t be f’r th’ sins av thim that begat 
ut ? Where does “ justice ” come in ? Oi see no 
justice in y’r “ plan ” f’r man or baste, sorr.’ 

‘ Wee mannie,’ said McGlusky sadly, 4 A ha’ waded 
in deep watters masel’ in ma day, an’ like yersel’ A 
thocht there was naething in th’ “ plan " but cruelty. 
A mind when A was gold-minin’ on th' borders o’ 
Bolivia. A was on ma lonesome, an’ A took ta watchin’ 
th’ birds an’ beasts, an’ a’ th’ things o' nature, an’ 
A thocht it was a' cruel an’ A hated th' “ plan.” ’ 
The veteran pulled reminiscently at his pipe. Gin- 
ger leaned forward eagerly ; of all things, he loved to 
draw from the Old Timer some of his quaint natural 
history observations, and to this end he had skilfully 
manoeuvred the conversation. 


200 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


* Tell us about thim things, sorr, an’ how they fit 
th’ “plan.” ’ 

‘ It’s a gey unchancy country, Bolivia, th’ bottom 
on th’ top most o’ th’ time. One day, bein’ tired, A 
was watchin’ th’ big spiders crawlin’ about in th’ bell 
flowers o’ th’ creepers that climb an’ twine over all 
things in their season : red bells, yellow bells, blue 
bells an’ striped yins, half as big as lilies, dainty as 
Chinese porcelain, an’ althegither lovely ; all kinds o’ 
insects climbed down th’ cups o’ th’ bells ta drink 
th’ honey at th’ bottom, an’ th’ big spiders waited 
on the rim o’ th’ bells an’ murdered ’em as they came 
up — it was cruel, an’ A hated the big beasts ; their 
hinder parts were near as big as walnuts, an’ glossy 
black as velvet. A weeshed th’ birds would kill them, 
but they didn’a ; an’ A saw wasps — not like them 
yins ye see here or in Englan’, but big things marked 
like all their tribe wi’ th’ tiger stripes — an’ A knew 
they cud sting, for A’d had some, an’ A watched ta 
see if they would hunt th’ spiders, but they didn’a — 
not then.’ 

The Junker who had been waiting an opportunity 
moved to crawl away. Snowy put his leg across the 
fellow’s neck, and said quietly : ‘ Lay still, you,’ and 
the Junker, with a hopeless moan, sank down again, 
and McGlusky took up his story. 

* As th’ season o’ flowers wore on, A noticed swarms 
o’ dainty wood flies cornin’ after th’ honey in th’ bell 
flowers ; they had long wings like transparent silver, 
an’ saft, gracefu’ bodies — th’ Indians ca’ them th’ 
nuns. These flies th’ spiders murdered by swarms 
until it was hard ta find a flower that was no’ littered 
wi’ wings like silver gauze ; it made me mad ta watch 


THE ANZACS’ EWE LAMB 


201 


th' robber spiders at their bluidy work an’ A often took 
a stick an’ killed wan or twa, but th’ greedy robbers 
were there in thoosan’s. Then A noticed a strange 
thing happen ; towards th’ time when th’ bell flowers 
began ta die off, th’ robber spiders that had never 
been afraid o’ th’ wasps, seemed ta fear ’em ; when 
yin o’ th’ tiger-striped beasties wad come buzzin’ 
roond, th’ spiders wad climb un’er a bit bark or rin 
an’ hide un’er a hollow leaf, an’ this puzzled ma, f’r 
th’ wasps didn’a touch ’em, so A watched an’ saw 
that th’ wasps were buildin’ their nests ; they dinna 
hive thegither as they dae here, but each pair builds 
a clay hoose o’ its ain aboot as long as ma thumb an’ 
a wee bit broader. They wad gather a peculiar kind 
o’ clay an’ plaster it ta th’ side o’ a rock an’ th’ only 
tools they had were their wings an’ feet, but they 
made their hames sae hard A had ta gie a hard crack 
wi’ ma hammer ta smash yin o’ them. When a pair 
o’ th’ winged tigers had their hoose ready a’ but 
th’ roof, then they mated, an’ A soon learnt why 
th’ robber spiders were feared o' them, f’r as soon 
as th’ hen wasp was ready ta lay her eggs, th’ pair 
o’ them wud seek a big fat spider an’ sting him till 
he fell ta th’ groond dazed like, then between them 
they would hunt th’ black murderer in th’ direction 
o’ their hame, an’ when he was close ta th’ mooth 
o’ it, th’ pair o’ winged tigers would fly at him like 
imps o’ th’ pit an’ sting him until he lay coma- 
tose wi’ th’ venom o’ their poison, but no’ dead ; 
ye ken, it was their plan ta keep life in him ; an’ then 
th’ hen wasp would insert her long tube doon which 
her eggs pass deep inta th’ hinder pairt o’ th’ spider, 
th’ pairt where a’ th’ meat in his body was stored, an 1 


202 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


she would lay her season’s batch o’ eggs in his juicy 
black body. Then between them they wad drag th’ 
comatose body an’ push it inta there clay hame, an’ 
prison it there by sealin’ up th’ roof wi’ clay.’ 

‘ Och, an’ he was a murtherer av innicents ; serve 
th’ baste right, sorr.’ 

‘ What happened after, Old Timer ? ' 

* Weel, Snowy, th’ spider kep’ alive until th’ 
warmth o’ its body hatched th’ wasp’s eggs, an’ th’ 
grubs was born, an’ they lived on th’ living spider till 
spring ; then from grubs they turned inta young wasps, 
an’ th’ united pressure o’ them opened th’ lid o’ th’ 
hame, an’ they came oot inta th’ sunshine. Dae ye 
see th’ “ plan,” th’ great plan o’ a’ nature, an’ its 
law o’ compensation ? The’ flies stole th’ life juice 
o’ th’ flowers, th’ spider murdered th’ flies, an’ the 
wasps lived on th’ spider, an’ if ye ha’ eyes ta see, 
ye’ll notice th’ same thing runnin’ through all nature 
fra tape-worms ta prima donnas, f’r man an’ wumman 
air na mair exempt fra th’ universal law than spiders. 
Noo, laddies, it’s gettin’ daylight, an’ A’m theenkin’ 
this Junker buckie ha’ reached that sphere in his ac- 
teevities when he maun play his part in th’ plan o’ 
compensation. A’m theenkin’ it wull no’ be lang 
before he un’erstan’s th’ great meestery.’ 

‘ Goin’ ter hang him, Old Timer ? ’ 

‘ Na, Snowy.’ 

' Och, sorr, let’s give th’ baste a flyin’ start an’ hunt 
him wid swords as he hunted us wid dogs.’ 

‘ Na, na, Ginger, that wudn’a be gentle, an’ A wad 
ha’ ye act like a gentleman in a’ things. A’ve thocht 
hoo ta act wi’ yon Junker lout. A’ll fecht him 
masel’ wi’ swords.’ 


THE ANZACS’ EWE LAMB 


203 

‘ Hardly fair to me an’ the kid, Old Timer ; we want 
a bit o’ him too.’ 

‘ Ye can ha’ it, laddie, — ye can bury him.’ 

The Junker sat up ; his face was livid, for he had 
heard every word. 

‘ I have got to fight you all, one after the other, 
is that it ? ’ 

‘ Na, if ye kill me, ye’ll gang free, but ye’ll no’ kill 
me. A feel th’ speerit o’ th’ Lord workin’ in ma ; ye 
may tak’ off yer tunic an’ roll th’ sleeve o’ y’r shirt 
o’ y’r sword arm, an’ dae y’r best, f’r as th’ Lord leev- 
eth A’m gawn ta hew ye asun’er as did Agag o’ ould 
tu his enemies f’r deesgracin’ ma in front o’ y’r men. 
Eef ye’d like ta wheesper a bit prayer afore A send 
ye ta th’ judgment hall o’ th Almighty, ye can begin 
noo, but dinna mak’ it ower lang, f’r A’m greedy ta be 
at ye.’ 

The Junker rose sullenly, spitting curses, and made 
ready to do battle for his life. McGlusky bared his 
gnarled right arm and knelt : 

' Lord, remem’er thy ewe-lamb in this hoor an’ gie 
ma grace ta split this buckie inta kin’lin’ wood. 
Amen.’ 

* Och, Shnowy, look at the face av th' Junker baste l 
He’s got as much chanct wid th’ Auld Toimer as th* 
black spider had wid the tiger wasps.’ 

' Hope I won’t look like the Junker when my time 
comes ter go west ; he’s gnashin' his teeth like a. 
mad dog, an’ th’ Old Timer looks as happy as if he 
was goin’ to his weddin’, kid.’ 

'Yes,’ said Ginger, * he thinks he’s th’ insthrument 
av what he calls “ th’ plan,” an’ whin he gets thim 
religious ideas before a fight he’s ondacently happy * 


204 GINGER AND McGLUSKY 

Oi wuddent loike ter fight wid a man whose trained 
on religion. 

The combatants were both big men, but built on 
different plans : McGlusky, big of bone bht loose- 
jointed, with no flesh worth talking about ; the Junker, 
solid and what Snowy termed ‘ dairy fed ’ — ' Bafe 
an’ beer to th’ heels/ was Ginger’s comprehensive 
description. 

The moment the antagonists faced each other it 
was evident that the German was a swordsman and 
that McGlusky was not, yet the Scottish Anzac was 
radiantly confident and went to the fray like a nigger 
to a water-melon patch. Jumping forward, he drove 
the heavy cavalry sabre downwards with all his might ; 
the Junker parried the stroke, and the steel met as a 
hammer falling upon an anvil. Swiftly the Junker 
thrust in reply, but McGlusky went away with a side- 
step that had saved him many a time when fighting 
with his fists. 

‘ Good f’r yez, sorr,’ shouted Ginger. ‘ Shnowy, 
he’ll bate him wid his fate ! ’ 

' No chin music now, kid ; don’t take his attention 
off his job ; th’ squarehead knows this game better ’n 
th’ Old Timer.’ 

McGlusky was back at his man ; his face was beaming 
like a sardine-tin in the sun. He feinted as if for a 
thrust, and slashed at the German’s neck, a great 
swinging stroke ; the Junker caught it on his blade, 
and lunging instantly afterwards ripped McGlusky ’s 
arm from wrist to elbow. The wound roused all the 
fighting venom in the veteran ; his blade whirled and 
flashed around the Junker’s head like lightning round 
a steel rod in a storm, but the German’s defence was 


THE ANZACS’ EWE LAMB 


205 


superb, he deflected every stroke with the skill of a 
master swordsman. Ginger was twitching all over 
with excitement ; Snowy, leaning quietly against a 
blighted tree trunk, smoked as if the spectacle had 
only a passing interest for him, for he was master of 
his emotions. The German, biding his time, waited 
until McGlusky’s fury expended itself, then he attacked, 
and McGlusky leapt back, or stepped aside and saved 
himself a dozen times by just a hair’s breadth. Then 
the Junker changed his tactics : he feinted low, and 
the veteran dropped his blade to parry the thrust, 
and the Junker, sweeping his blade across, sent a 
whistling stroke at McGlusky’s neck which would 
hake taken his head off if it had landed, but McGlusky 
ducked as many a time he had ducked under a swing- 
ing right-hand punch aimed at his jaw, but the edge 
of the blade just caught the skin of his scalp and the 
blood streamed down his cheek and neck. 

* Faith, Shnowy, he’s peelin’ th’ Old Timer like a 
pertater ; let’s call it a dhraw, an’ — an’ stop ut.' 

* Dry up, kid.' 

The fight went on its fierce, implacable way, one 
man fighting like a boxer, the other like a swordsman* 
yet the confidence never left the Scotch Anzac face. 
The Junker was showing weariness, and McGlusky 
was being bled weak by his wounds ; not once had 
he landed edge or point on the German. Ginger 
whispered to Snowy : “ Och, ut’s not fair, an’ jew- 
lin’s agin th’ law, anyway. Shnowy, Oi’m not gain ter 
see th’ Auld Toimer kilt. O’im goin’ ter shlip a pistol 
bullet inta that dam Junker.’ 

' Wait a bit, kid.’ 

Suddenly the Junker thrust at the body ; the veteran. 


206 GINGER AND McGLUSKY 

screwed his frame edgeways on, as he would have 
done to avoid a straight punch ; the Junker, missing 
his objective, stumbled forward, and McGlusky struck 
him full in the face at short range with the heavy hilt 
of the cavalry sabre. It was not a stroke in sword- 
play according to any of the rules of the schools, but 
it served. 

‘ Good f’r yez, sorr — illigant— swat him wid th’ 
sharp ind av ut now, sorr, poke ut through 'm any- 
wheres, th’ scut. 

Snowy brought the back of his hand across Ginger’s 
mouth, and sent him sprawling. The German had 
reeled back half-dazed by the unorthodox stroke he 
had received ; his backward move brought him close 
to a charred tree-trunk, and as McGlusky came at 
him he swept his blade round with all his force and, 
meeting the wood, his word snapped off six inches 
from the guard. McGlusky saw the misadventure 
and dropped his point to the ground, for it was not 
in him to take a mean advantage. The Junker gave 
one glance, and then hurling the hilt full in the veter- 
an’s face turned and ran for his life. McGlusky stood 
for a second in amazement, then, snatching up the hilt 
that had not added to his beauty, he growled : 

‘ Th’ lowdoon skunk, gin A catch him, A’ll mak’ 
liim eat it.’ 

He rushed off in pursuit, but Ginger was before 
him ; fleet of foot as a greyhound, he sped on the 
Junker’s tracks, the cavalry sabre he had looted from 
the German lines bare in his right hand ; the only 
thought alive in his heart was that this man had once 
hunted him, and it was his turn now. Straight to- 
wards a great hole that had been made by many 


THE ANZACS' EWE LAMB 


20 7 


bursting shells ran the Junker ; he intended to skirt 
it in the direction of the German lines, but a glance 
over his shoulder showed him Ginger dashing hot on 
his tracks. The wood on the opposite side of the 
great shell-hole was dense, and it seemed possible 
that if he reached its shelter he might evade his pur- 
suers. With this in mind, he headed straight for 
the cavernous gap in the earth ; that hole had filled 
about half-way with rain-water and liquid slime, but 
the sun and wind had created a crust on the surface 
which looked firm ; the Junker chanced it and jumped, 
and Ginger, racing *two yards behind, bent his body to 
spring after him, but Snowy made a desperate rush 
and grabbed his shoulder even as the Irish lad was 
about to leap, for no matter what the crisis Snowy's 
brain, cool as a glacier never deserted him, and he 
knew something of shell-holes by bitter experience. 

‘ Curse yez, Shnowy, let ' 

— ‘ Look, kid.' 

Ginger looked, and so did McGlusky, who had come 
rushing upon the scene. The Junker was up to his hips 
in thick oozy foul slime ; he clutched at the sun-baked 
crust oq either side of him and tried to drag himself 
upwards, but the pressure of his hands broke the frail 
support, and he sank to his sword-belt ; then he began 
to struggle madly, and every movement pulled him 
lower in the noisome mess. He turned a white face 
towards the three grim faces on the bank. ‘ Help ! ' 
His cry rang like a woman's shriek ; he must have 
heard many women shriek like that in heart-agony 
in Belgium and in Northern France when he and such 
butchers as he shambled and ravished the peasantry, 
aye, and in Poland and Serbia also, for he had been 


208 GINGER AND McGLUSKY 

there with the Kaiser’s raiding hosts, and he and his 
Junker comrades had deemed it such fine sport. The 
three could not have saved him if they would ; they 
had no rope to throw ; and their putties had been dis- 
carded when they put on German officers’ uniforms. 
The Junker made another mad effort, and again the 
crust broke, and he sank deeper still. ' Help ! ’ His 
face was screwed round towards the watchers again, 
but he read no pity in the unwinking eyes that looked 
into his own. McGlusky slowly lifted his right hand 
and pointed to the skies. 

‘ Ask help there ; that’s where y’r gawn ta.’ 

' Bet he ain’t ; he’s goin’ the other way.’ 

It was Snowy’s cold, passionless drawl charged 
with hate of the ' baby murderers ’ that knew no 
pity. 

The German aristocrat was up to his chin in the 
filter, a long drawn wail of terror broke from his grey 
lips, then his head went under the slime and the 
tragedy was finished. For a moment the watchers 
gazed in silence, then McGlusky spoke : 

‘ Laddies, it’s th’ fulfilment o’ th’ plan. Did A no’ 
say th’ Lord wud find a way ? We mortals air ower 
fond o’ meddlin’.” 

‘ Och, sorr, you an’ y’r “ plan ! ” If he hadn’t 
bruk ’ his sword agin the tree you’d ha' been th’ last 
act in yer auld plan.’ 

' Not quite th’ last act, kid,’ murmured Snowy 
significantly. 

The three turned to retrace their footsteps, and 
from behind half a dozen trees glided little brown 
men holding knives in their hands. 

4 By the saints— Ghurkas ! ’ 


THE ANZACS’ EWE LAMB 


209 

Ginger made an impulsive step forward, forgetting 
his German uniform. 

‘ Stand still, you fool kid ! ’ 

The warning did not come a second too soon, for 
one of the bronze men had balanced his knife to throw, 
and as Ginger well knew, the ‘ kurri ’ would have 
gone through him unerringly ; he knew, for it had 
been one of his many delights to watch Ghurkas 
practising. Snowy tossed his sword on the ground, 
the others did the same, and all held up their hands. 
Glances of annoyance and disappointment passed 
between the captors : they had expected a fight and 
hoped for it, for to the little bronze men nothing so 
much resembled their idea of paradise as a battle 
royal, and a battle with the steel above all things. 

' Why you wear German uniforms an ’speak 
Inglis ? ’ demanded the leader of the scouting squad. 

‘ Sorra a bit av German do Oi know except “ damn 
the Kaiser.” ’ 

Snowy chuckled, for it did not seem to him that 
Ginger’s explanation proved that he knew much of 
the language of the Fatherland. 

' Och, an’ what are yez cluckin’ like a hen for, 
Shriowy ? * 

‘ Your German sounded like Irish to me, kid.’ 

The serious brown faces were regarding them sus- 
piciously. McGlusky stepped into the breach. With 
a large gesture of his right hand, he commanded 
attention. 

* Hech, ma buckies, we’re no’ th’ dogs o’ Kaiser 
Wullie ; we’re British so jers escaped fray onner enemy 
lines.’ Then, indicating the three uniforms, ‘ Th’ 
buckies who used ta wear these air in gehenna th’ noo ; 

14 


210 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


leastways, we gie’d 'em a gude start on th’ journey. 
Ye'd best shift yer shanks an' tak' us inta oor lines ; 
A've verra important information f’r th’ Colonel 
sahib's ears, so get a move on an' dinna stan’ glowerin' 
at us like wolves at a fat buck, or A '11 be haein' a word 
wi' ye after A've done wi' th' ear o’ th’ Colonel sahib.' 

At the well known sound of the Scottish accent, 
the Ghurkas grinned in delighted fashion, and the 
leader said : 

‘ The young soldier with the head like an Indian 
sunset is not of the kilties.' 

Ginger, who was touchy concerning the colour of 
his hair where strangers were concerned, flared up at 
once. 

‘ May a banshee fly away wid y'r soul ! Who are 
yez wid y’r face like boot-blackin’ mixed wid pay 
soup ter be takin’ liberties wid me hair ? ’ 

The Ghurka grinned until his mouth looked like 
a tobacco pouch that a poodle has played with. 

‘ Truly,’ he said to his comrades, ‘ I think these be 
sahibs of ours ; none other speak their minds so plainly. 
The big man I know by his speech for a kiltie, and 
the young one is of that people who fight with their 
own shadows when they can get naught else to quarrel 
with. Have we not seen them in the bazars in our 
own country, ready to drink or to fight at all hours of 
the day or night ? And the other — the young man 
with the quiet tongue and the steady eyes, his sort 
also have I seen — often.' 

‘ Let us be careful ; spies wear many tongues,’ 
warned a comrade. 

The first Ghurka smiled sardonically and caressed 
his ‘ kurri.' 


THE ANZACS’ EWE LAMB 


211 


‘We be two to one, and armed ; it is not always 
a virtue to be over careful, Ram Jung. Then address- 
ing McGlusky, he asked : ‘ Who was that one who 
died with his mouth full of filth in the shell hole, the 
one who screamed like a woman before the mire choked 
him ? He was not a brave man ; it is permitted a 
woman to cry out when she is hurt, but not a soldier.’ 

McGlusky told him, and also in a few graphic sen- 
tences described the treatment the Junker had given 
him and his comrades whilst prisoners. 

‘ Why did you fight him when you had him in 
your power ? ' 

The big man’s eyes grew baleful. 

‘ A wanted ta feel th’ steel bite inta his flesh ; A 
wanted ta lop off th’ han’ that struck ma when A was 
helpless an’ th' fut that booted ma face when A was 
beaten ta th’ groond ; you wud ha’ wanted th’ same, 
wee man.’ 

‘ I would have laid him open from the chin to the 
belt with this, and left him for the birds to bury, had 
he done so to me, and afterwards fell into my hand, 
but yours is the way of the kilties ; I have seen it many 
times on the borders of the hill country in my own 
country. Vengeance is only sweet to you and yours if 
you take it fighting ; vengeance is sweet to me and 
mine whenever it falls to our hand, hot or cold.’ 

‘ A ken that fine. A was no’ on th’ Afghan border 
f’r naething. Noo haud yer blether, wee man, an’ 
tak’ us ta th’ Anzac Colonel ; ma wame is achin’ f’r 
ma breakfas’ an’ it's ower time noo.’ 

Quietly the squad of little bronze men surrounded 
the three and marched them into the Anzac lines, 
and the first person they encountered was the padre, 


212 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


who made a joyful rush at Ginger with hands extended 
and a smile on his face that McGlusky said would 
have made trout rise in midwinter if he'd only put it 
on a hook. Ginger gripped the extended hands and 
with whimsical dignity addressed the padre. 

' Oi’m thinkin’, sorr, you moight salute me ; don't 
yez see Oi'm a major o’ a crack regiment ? ’ 

' Whatever you’ve on your back, you've the flavour 
av dear dirty Dublin on y'r tongue, ye cub.’ 

‘ Oi'll be reportin' yez f'r insolence, sorr,’ grinned 
Ginger, and then with a grip of his hands the good 
Father knew and understood, the imp whispered, 
' An' God’s blessin' an’ th’ saints’ toiler yer footsteps, 
padre, an’ th’ light av angel eyes be a lamp to yer fate, 
sorr.’ Then, to hide the water that had gushed to 
his own beautiful eyes, he cocked his Prussian helmet 
at such an angle that the grinning Ghurkas said it 
was only the colour of his hair that kept it on his 
head at all, and his swagger and swank as he and 
the escort marched through the chuckling Anzacs’ 
ranks set the lines agog with merriment. 

' Hello, Old Timer, good luck to you, old cock 
bird ! ’ shouted Flamingo. ‘ Couldn’t kill him with 
an axe,’ he supplemented to his cronies who in their 
own quaint slang hurled a rude but hearty welcome 
at the veteran. 

‘Give us a cake-walk, Ginger!’ shouted a voice, 
and the imp, his face full of drollery, gave such a good 
imitation of a cake-walk and yet kept sufficiently 
within military bearing to accentuate the parody, 
that even grizzled officers had to tug their moustaches 
down to hide their merriment. 

Snowy, moving along with his own particular 


THE ANZACS’ EWE LAMB 


213 


slouch which had defied all drill sergeants, came in 
for a thundrous welcome when he arrived abreast of 
his own company, and the only man who did not 
raise a yell was Murrimbidgee, who, of all men there, 
loved him the most. 

‘ Murrimbidgee’s jealous of Snowy,’ sneered some 
one. 

‘Yes,’ came the cold answer, * even a liar like you 
can speak th’ truth by accident sometimes. I’m 
more jealous of him than I’d be of Julius Caesar.’ And 
he meant it, though only the padre, who was near, 
understood. To have been as straight and clean as 
the sharpshooter, Murrimbidgee would have given 
his reckless life and pawned his soul, but to some men 
the golden gates of opportunity never seem to be open 
at the right moment. 

When he and Snowy met in the lines a little -later 
they exchanged a curt nod, that was all, and as Snowy 
sat that night the centre of an admiring throng, telling 
of the adventures of McGlusky and Ginger, and for- 
getting his own, Murrimbidgee sat apart, just near 
enough to hear the narrative without appearing to be 
interested ; and as he sat every now and again in the 
silences that punctuated the sharpshooter’s tale the 
soldiers could hear the rustle and crisp whisper of 
the cards that the gamester shuffled. 

‘ Plays in his sleep, don’t he ? ’ whispered Sunny 
Jim. 

‘ Could if he wanted to, an’ then skin a fool like 
you to yer shirt,’ snapped Snowy. 

Ginger came to that particular group and was 
greeted hilariously. He saw the gambler sitting apart, 
and went to him, for the Irish lad never forgot the 


214 GINGER AND McGLUSKY 

days when he had been lonely before McGlusky found 
him. 

‘ Yer ondacently fond o’ yer own comp’ny, Murrim- 
bidgee ; come ’nd join th’ ruck.’ 

' I’m all right, son/ 

‘ Y’r all wrong ; come on now/ 

* Yes, that’s what’s th’ matter with me, son, I’m 
all wrong/ 

Something in the tone of the voice more than the 
mere words struck the imp and woke his swift Irish 
sympathies. He slipped a hand down round the 
gambler’s face and squeezed the handsome head against 
his leg. Possibly that was the first genuine caress 
the gambler had received in all his life ; he had had 
others that he had paid for, but none knew better 
than he the value of caresses you pay coin of the realm 
for to women of a certain sort — young as he was, he 
had few of life’s illusions. He let his cheek rest against 
the youngling’s leg for a moment, then — ‘ Go to blazes, 
son,’ he said softly, and went on shuffling his eternal 
pack. 

Soon Ginger was the centre of the jovial, light- 
hearted group of warriors, and it was not long before 
the cry of ' Sing, Ginger, sing,’ was heard, for those 
rough blades asked for nothing better in life after a 
hard day’s fighting than to listen to the joyous melody 
of his glorious voice. McGlusky, at another bivouac, 
heard Ginger ; the boy was singing a boatman’s 
chanty picked up from some French Canadian sol- 
diers, and soon the big man was amongst the lads 
audience, for he gloried in his singing. Ginger sang 
until even he was weary, and he loved his gift as a 
skylark does. Then a rough but kindly fellow offered 


THE ANZACS’ EWE LAMB 


215 


him a drink of rum and water. The lad refused, saying 
simply : 

' Och, no ; Oi’ve cut ut out.’ 

Then some thoughtless fool jibed him, for fools 
are like potatoes, they grow in every land, and the 
pity is they can’t be boiled. Ginger flushed, but 
said nothing, and the fool opened his mouth again. 
Then McGlusky pushed himself forward and said : 

* Th’ wee laddie ha’ tell’t ye he ha’ cut th’ drink 
out till th’ war is ower. A ken why. He made a 
promise ta a staff officer he’d no’ touch it ; he made 
that promise, an’ he will no’ break it — he’d dee 
first.’ 

Then McGlusky told the crowd how Ginger had 
kept his oath at the risk of his life in the midst of the 
Junker officers, and when he had finished he glared 
round him in silence, waiting for the ass to jibe again ; 
but the fellow was discreetly silent. 

Murrimbidgee’s cold, level voice broke in on the 
tension. 

‘ You needn’t wait for a reply from Black Hogan, 
Mac ; he's a dog that barks through a fence but never 
even raises a growl outside a gate.’ 

' A ken Black Hogan, Murrimbidgee ; he’s aboot ma 
ain weight, an’ A wad gie a month’s pay if he wad say 
again wha' he said th’ noo ta th’ wee laddie.’ 

‘ He won't,' sneered Murrimbidgee. ‘ Black Hogan’s 
th’ sort that would defile a grave, but he’d never fill 
one — unless he could shoot some one in the back.’ 

Black Hogan glared across at the gambler, but that 
worthy remarked steadily : 

' Needn't try to hoodoo me, Hogan ; there’s lots of 
room just here if you care to come and look for it, 


216 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


and you can have your belly full o’ trouble any old 
way — with the bayonet if you’d prefer it.’ 

‘ A’m theenkin’ A can supply a’ Mr. Hogan’s require- 
ments, buckie, thankin’ ye a’ th’ same f’r buttin’ in.' 
Then Mac turned to Hogan. ‘ A cam’ here fu’ o’ love 
f’r a’ men, for A ha’ passed through troubled watters 
these last days, an’ th’ Lord has been verra gude ta ma, 
gie’in’ ma twa frien’s that didn’a ken fear an’ wudn’a 
desert a comrade in time o’ trouble ; th’ Lord ha’ 
treated ma as His ewe-lamb, an' A’m no’ ungratefu’ ; 
ye ken ma weel, A’m no’ a mon o’ strife. A dinna 
mind dallyin’ wi’ a fecht noo an’ then, but na snow- 
drop loves peace mair than masel’, but, Black Hogan, 
eef ye misca’ th’ wee laddie again f’r stickin’ ta his 
oath oboot th’ drink, A’ll push y’r whuskers doon y’r 
throat an’ pu’ ’em oot o’ y’r ears.’ 

A gurgle of laughter ran through the group at this 
proof of McGlusky’s peaceful disposition. Then Pros- 
pector Brown voiced the sentiments of the crowd : 

‘ We all know Ginger, Old Timer ; he’s a top hole 
liar for fun ; but no one ever knew the kid break a 
promise yet, an’ the next chap who tries to coax him 
to drink is going to sample trouble.’ 

The padre, who had been lingering in the shadows 
and had heard all, went to his dug-out, his heart singing 
with joy, and on his way he found time to drop in 
upon that kindly staff officer who had once shielded 
McGlusky and extracted a promise from Ginger, and 
to him he told how the boy had kept his pledge in the 
midst of danger. 

* He’s a great bit of stuff,’ was the officer’s comment. 

‘ He’s an awful young pup wid a big spark o’ th' 
grace o’ God mixed up wid that same,’ laughed 


THE ANZACS' EWE LAMB 


217 


the padre ; ‘ it’ll be a case of “ pull divil, pull baker," 
wid Ginger as long as he lives.' 

* I wonder which will win ; the master of evil has 
such a lot of pleasant knots in his end of the rope, 
padre.' 

‘ I think a woman will settle it one way or the other ; 
if he marries a good one/and thank God the world’s 
full of 'em, he’ll give satan th’ slip. Good night, 
and good luck.' 

The padre had ended rather abruptly, for his keen 
eyes, so used to reading men’s faces, had seen the staff 
officer’s face turn grey-white when he mentioned 
what a woman’s influence might do for a soldier. 

. ‘ God forgive me if I hurt his heartstrings with my 
clumsy fingers,’ he muttered on his homeward way, 

* for he’s a gallant gentleman whatever his trouble 
may have been in the past.’ Then softly to his own 
soul : ‘ I wonder if it was -a woman of the wrong sort 
that drove him to the cursed bottle in the old Indian 
days, but that’s between him and his maker.' 


CHAPTER XI 


‘ TA HELL WL THE KAISER ’ 

A GREAT roar of battle on the Western Front ; 

men fighting as they had fought for months 
against the pick of Germany’s troops, always ready, 
always steady, or as McGlusky put it, ‘ three men in 
ane pair o’ breeks.’ The Anzacs had done their bit, 
and they had done it well. Close to them was an 
Irish regiment, that for some reason known only to 
the gods of imbecility seldom had its deeds of valour 
mentioned in print, yet even the Anzacs raised their 
slouch hats to the ' Paddies ’ who knew no fear. 

‘ I love those Irish tykes,’ drawled Snowy to a 
crowd around a bivouac fire in front of Pozieres. 
' They go over the parapet as if they were goin’ to a 
weddin' or a wake, and fear o’ death is not in them, 
yet we never read about them. Funny, ain't it ? 
Wonder what’s the meanin’ of it ? ’ 

‘ Politics,’ tersely interpolated a voice on the other 
side of the small bivouac fire. 

‘ Then,' drawled Snowy, ' politics be damned. 
What does it matter if a chap’s a red hot rebel in Tip- 
perary if he fights like hell-with-its-trousers-off out 
here ? I’m going to vote the way I like when I get 
home again, but while I’m here I’m going to fight as 
the army does, and it’s like that with Irish. Nolice 


218 


'TA HELL WL THE KAISER’ 


219 


them take those guns to-day — gee, they went over 
and through everything ; made a bit more noise than 
we do when we’re workin’ ; but they were busy once 
they got on the job.’ 

‘ Did yer notice th’ kilties a bit farther down th’ 
line last Monday ? ’ 

Snowy nodded. ‘Yes,’ he drawled, ‘ I noticed 
the kilties ; so did the Kaiser’s gang, I’ll take my 
oath.’ 

‘ Never want to see anything better than the kilties 
when they are out for blood,’ chirruped the other 
speaker. ‘ Made me feel glad I wasn’t a German 
when they legged it over the strip of ground between 
their trench and the German line ; they just went on 
as if they had tickets for Berlin, and hadn’t time to 
stop for a drink till they hit the Brandenburg 
gate.’ 

‘ What’s the best thing the Germans have in Berlin, 
Snowy ? ’ asked a third bivouacker. 

Snowy drew the back of his hand across his mouth 
in a long, slow pull, then, sucking his words in, said. 
' Lager beer.’ 

‘ Oh, dry up,’ chortled another, ‘ you make my 
mouth dry. I had some lager beer once,’ he added 
ruminatively, ' when I’d carried my swag to Kurnalpi 
from Coolgardie ; Christmas time, too, hundred and six 
in the shade, it was. When I’ve prayed since then, 
I've asked the Lord to let me go where there’s lager 
beer on ice when I die.' 

' You won’t, son ; you'll go where the buttons '11 
melt off your breeches as soon as you enter. Lager 
beer on ice is for angels, not for soldiers o' the line/ 
chirruped Snowy. 


2.20 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


‘ Hello, boys, tell me where I am, will you ? * 

The voice came out of the darkness, and a moment 
later a dispatch-rider pushed his battered machine 
into the circle of light. As soon as the ‘ boys ’ saw 
him there was a chorus of welcome. 

‘ Hello, Geoff ! ’ ‘ What’s the news, boy ? ’ ‘ When 

did you come back from Blighty ? * ‘ Got over your 

gassing, old sport ? ’ 

The new-comer, a tall, well-made man of thirty, 
•did not answer the chorus ; he was busy examining 
his machine. At last he straightened up. 

* That settles it, boys,’ he said, ‘ my old tin can has 
got a bullet, an’ she’s no more good to ride. Say, 
tell me, are we near a road or track ? I’m a bit 
hustled.’ 

' Quite close, and you won’t have long to wait for 
a dispatch-rider, if that’s what you mean. They all 
go past here, and most of ’em hurry ; lots of shells 
just hereabouts, Geoff.’ 

‘ Well, we must stop the next one and he must take 
my dispatch on ; my machine is done in.’ 

‘ Look pretty near done in yourself, Geoff,’ put in 
Snowy. 

‘ Yes, not feeling too gay — never have felt top notch 
since I was gassed at Ypres, couldn’t pull round 
properly in Blighty — awful climate, fog as thick as 
pea soup ; only difference is fog all the time, pea 
soup once a day.’ 

‘ Was out in a fog in London, and got lost with a 

girl, and ’ put in a voice, which was drowned in a 

roar of laughter. 

‘ What’s bitin’ you fellows,’ roared the voice ; ‘ can’t 
a feller get lost with a girl in London ? ’ 


‘TA HELL WL THE KAISER ' 


22 r 


' Dunno,’ drawled Snowy, ‘ I couldn't, and I 
tramped dash near to Epping Forest trying to.' 

Another chorus of laughter followed this frank con- 
fession. 

* See anything in London whilst you were on the 
sick list, Geoff ? * 

The boys in the fighting line were greedy for 
information. Geoff Lamard smiled. He who had 
fought through South Africa and for a couple of years 
in Europe, knew the call of the front firing line for 
news. 

‘ Saw three Zepps brought down, two near Epping 
Forest, where Snowy tried to get lost with his girl/ 

‘ Tell us about it, Geoff/ 

So Lamard, being a good fellow as well as a good 
soldier, told the story. 

‘ Ld been having dinner with an old Australian 
you all know, and he got wind about the Zepps, and 
put me on the lay, ’nd I took a taxi out in the right 
direction, whilst he went fossicking round for informa- 
tion concerning details to write a story for the papers, 
and that’s how I saw the first one. It came down in 
a blazing mass, and all the crew were killed/ 

' Good enough for the baby killers/ snarled the 
crowd around the bivouac fire. 

A dispatch-rider came with a rush into the little 
circle of flame, and Lamard handed on his dispatch, 
which the new man pouched, took a gulp of steaming 
tea, and dashed off in the darkness. As he was leav- 
ing, Snowy said : 

‘ About two hundred yards from here farther on 
there’s a flat about a quarter of a mile across ; don’t 
stop for any bivouac fires you may see ; ride like 


222 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


blazes ; that flat is swept by shrapnel fire about every 
ten minutes ; you’ll be lucky if you get through ; if 
you don’t, old sport, we'll bury you decent in the 
morning.’ 

The Anzac on the wheel grinned. 

‘ All right, son, I’ve crossed about a dozen patches 
like that to-night, and my luck held good.’ 

‘ All in the luck o' the game,’ replied Snowy. 
* Geoff Lamard crossed eleven patches of open ground, 
and his machine was put out of action in the last.' 

‘ Was that Geoff Lamard who gave me his dis- 
patch ? ’ 

' Yes, partner.’ 

‘ Well, if he’s been stopped, my luck must be in ; 
takes a bit to stop Lamard — tell him his pal Horne 
is out of action.’ 

‘ Gone west, eh ? ’ 

‘No, just a bit to go on with ; gas first, then a shell 
splinter. So long, old cock bird.’ 

‘ So long. Travel like blazes ; it’s your only chance.’ 

‘ I’ll make the old sardine-tin do her darndest, 
sonny,’ and Banjo Williams, of New South Wales, 
flashed out into the starlight. 

They buried him next day at noon, where they 
found him, ripped to bits by shrapnel, a hundred and 
fifty yards from their camp, and Snowy was chief 
mourner. His machine was intact, and Lamard had 
taken it and the dispatches, and had raced through 
the death zone. As he flashed amid the rain of flying 
iron, Snowy remarked : 

‘ There goes a private soldier who fought all through 
Africa, starting when he was a kid. He’s done two 
years of this damn game, and is still a private, 'nd he’s 


‘TA HELL WL THE KAISER ’ 


223 


got brains to burn, and schoolboys are getting com- 
missions who have never heard a gun go oh, and yet 
they wonder why we don’t win all our battles.’ 

* Ought to have had a commission yourself two 
years ago, Snowy,’ remarked a voice. 

‘ Oh, cut it out, pardner,’ was the unsympathetic 
response, and Snowy went off to match his wit and 
skill against German sharpshooters, and the boys in 
his section knew they were O.K. whilst his unwavering 
eyes were glancing along his rifle barrel. 

The next afternoon the Anzacs had a proof of how 
good the German system of espionage was. There 
had been just a whisper that the Anzacs were to charge 
the German trenches, and take them ; to ' charge ’ 
and to * take ’ was the same thing in their vernacular, 
for never once in the whole period of the war did they 
fail to take a position they were sent after. They 
gloried in this, and lived up to their traditions. On 
this particular afternoon, just when they were wonder- 
ing if the order would really come for them to ad- 
vance, the Germans placed a board above their fore- 
most trench, and on that board was sketched an emu 
and a kangaroo, and underneath in big bold letters 
was printed : ‘ Advance Australia — if you can.’ It 
was the Australian coat of arms and motto, with the 
three last words added in mockery. Swiftly the Anti- 
podean wit supplied an answer. Up went a board 
over the front Australian trench, and on that board 
was a big ‘ iron cross,’ and underneath was written : 
‘Fritz, this is- for valour — come and get it,’ and a 
laugh went up from the trenches of both friend and 
foe. 

‘ A’m theenkin’ A’ll tak’ a keek behin’ oor lines/ 


224 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


said McGlusky to Snowy. ‘ There’s some one coding 
messages ta th’ Germans ; it’s a German disguised 

as a Belgian, A’m theenkin’, an’ ’ he nodded 

sagely. 

' Go ahead, Mac,’ was the answer ; ‘ an, say, Old 
Timer, don’t worry about prisoners and court-martials 
if you catch him at it.’ 

* A’m no’ theenkin’ he’ll need a coort-martial eef A 
see him coding a message ; ye air ower loose in th’ 
lip th’ day, Snowy,’ was the severe reply. 

About two hours later Mac came back to his trench. 

‘ See anything ? ’ asked Snowy. 

' Saw a mon coding to yon trenches.’ 

‘ Did you shoot him ? ’ 

‘ Na, A gied him th’ butt.’ 

' Sure he’s dead, Mac ? ’ 

‘ Ye can no’ be sure o’ anything in this wicked work. 
Snowy, but if yon mon is no’ dead, A’ll no’ be sur- 
prisit ta see Moses an’ a’ th’ prophets turn oop ta 
mess th’ nicht. A’m hopin’,’ he added, * A didna 
shift th’ sichts o’ ma rifle when A hit him wi’ th’ butt ; 
the blow jarred ma arm richt ta th’ shoulther, an’ 
yet th’ skull o’ th’ buckie didna seem any thicker 
than a goose egg ; it’s wonnerfu’, Snowy, how frail we 
mortals air.’ 

Snowy looked at the mighty figure towering there 
in the dusk, toying with the heavy service rifle as if 
it were a straw, and did not wonder at the frailty of 
human anatomy under the circumstances. 

‘ We are all like last year’s grass,’ whispered the 
big Scot. ‘ A’m no’ exactly a weaklin’, ye ken, laddie, 
but in this awfu’ war A feel A’m na mair than a snow- 
drop bloomin’ before th’ breath o’ spring.’ 


‘TA HELL WF THE KAISER ’ 


225 


* Yes/ cooed Snowy, eyeing the rifle that had just 
done the spy’s business so thoroughly, ‘ if there’s one 
thing more than another you remind me of, Mac, it’s 
a snowdrop.’ 

The next day was one that will live in Anzac his- 
tory, for then was fought the grim battle of Pozieres. 
The troops were quivering with the lust of battle, 
waiting the word of command — it came at last. 

* Ready, boys — steady for the word.’ Soon the 
word came, and the Anzac warriors hurled themselves 
forward on Pozieres. They dropped in twos and 
threes, they fell in dozens, and where the machine- 
guns got them they went down in hundreds, but they 
never faltered. They never got out of touch, never 
wavered, -never degenerated into an armed mob ; 
their ranks were broken, their lines gapped, for that 
day Germany took bitter toll of the men from over 
seas for all they had done in France. Great guns 
thundered on them, the bursting shells forming craters 
into which the oncoming ranks dived as into a stone 
quarry. Smaller guns, that splashed all the spaces 
with shrapnel, kept up a hellish jubilee ; the rat-tat- 
tat-ta of the quick-firing guns never stilled for* a 
moment, and the massed rifle fire was murderous in 
its steady and deadly fusillade. How anything could 
live in face of such a tornado of destruction passes 
the comprehension of man. How men could be got 
to face it is one of the marvels that will puzzle future 
historians, but the Anzacs did it, as did every kind of 
regiment in the British army at one time or 
another in the great war, and as one line was 
swept away another took its place, and the closer 
they got the steadier and more determined they 

15 


226 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


grew. A general, standing on a little eminence with 
his glasses to his eyes, watched with set face the awful 
slaughter, and the steady advance ; he saw gapped 
lines close up automatically, saw the fine young Anzac 
officers holding their men together as if they had 
served through a score of campaigns, and he smiled 
grimly, and well he might, for the earth knows no 
better leaders than the officers of Australia and New 
Zealand. An old staff officer standing by the general 
brought his glasses down with a click. 

‘ They're as game as the devil, but they'll never 
make it, General.' 

The general kept his glasses to his eyes, and some- 
thing like a laugh broke from his firm mouth. 

* They’ll die trying, then,’ he snarled. ' Look at 
them ; look at 'em now, they’re in amongst the wire, 
and every gun the enemy has in action is playing on 

them. Look — by G , that regiment's gone, but 

watch the fellows behind ; they’re advancing at the 
double, but in spite of the enemy fire every rank is 
dressed as if on parade ; those officers are made of 
gold.’ 

‘ They’re the last word in pluck and discipline, 
General, but they’ll never win through ; flesh and 
blood couldn’t do it ; they must break directly.’ 

' Not on your life, those lads will never break ; if 
only a corporal’s guard gets to the enemy, they’ll go 
on.’ 

A few minutes of anxious watching, whilst the 
German guns played havoc, and then the general’s 
voice, thrilling with excitement : 

‘ Won’t do it — won’t they — look at ’em now, look 
at ’em. man, by G , they’ve done it.’ 


‘TA HELL WL THE KAISER ' 


227 


If they hadn’t done it, they were doing it ; they 
were in amongst the German gunners, and never did 
men use the steel as they used it in that hour ; no 
need to call the German a coward and talk of the 
throwing up of hands and the cry of ' Quarter, Kame- 
rad.’ Most of the men who have heard that cry so 
often have heard it in their sleep, a hundred miles 
away from the fighting lines, and have made popular 
' copy ’ out of it. The Germans fought for every 
gun, for every foot of ground, for everything that 
soldiers hold dear, and they died where they fought ; 
they had to die or run when that dour army got 
amongst them. The pick of Bavaria was there, 
savage as wolves, and like wolves most of them died, 
and when the rest were pushed back from that slaughter 
borne by the quiet fury of Pakeha and Maori and full- 
blooded Australians, they left a grisly quota of their 
best behind them, who would never fight again, to tell 
how Pozieres was fought for and won. 

McGlusky had been in the thick of the fray, but 
in such a fight as that individual effort was obscured 
by the doings of the many. For, as Snowy remarked 
later, if every man who performed some deed of mag- 
nificent daring in the battle of Pozieres had received 
the V.C., then Victoria Crosses would have been as 
common as blackberries. The commanding officer of 
the big Scot’s section came along to have a word with 
his men, as his way was, and spying Mac, who was a 
favourite of his, he said : 

‘ Well, Old Timer, what sort of a scrap do you think 
this was, eh ? ’ 

Mac ruminatively chewed a corner of his tobacco 
plug, then voiced his opinion. 


228 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


‘ Na so bad, sir, na so bad ; it was hell on ice gettin* 
ta them, but when we did grup ’em it was a verra 
pretty mix-oop ; they’re no’ bad fechters.’ 

‘ What were you doing most of the time, Mac ? ’ 

‘ Me Oh, A was jest fechtin’. A pulled a treeger 
at short range at one mon, gi’ed a bit jab in th’ wame 
wi’ th’ baggonet ta anither yin, an’ swung th’ butt 
on ta th’ skull o’ anither buckie ; na ane seemed ta 
be payin’ ony special attention ta me, so A jest got 
beesy, an’ A nivver got a scratch, sir ; it’s wunnerfu’,’ 
he added reverently, ' hoo th’ Lord looks after us in 
a fecht.’ 

The C.O. turned away quickly, in order that the 
Scot might not see his face, for he had run against 
Mac in the hurly-burly of the battle. The last recol- 
lection the C.O. had of McGlusky, he was charging 
with bayonet fixed, through a thick cloud of smoke, 
right into a Bavarian regiment, and as he charged he 
rent the air with a yell that must have come down to 
him from some ancient Highland border-raiding for- 
bear. His tunic was back somewhere in the Anzac 
trenches ; his shirt-sleeves were rolled right up to the 
big, muscle-studded shoulders ; his shirt was undone 
all down the front, displaying his tremendous chest, 
and his hob-nailed boots tore up the dirt as he rushed 
on the foe. Into the thick of it Mac had gone like 
a whirlwind, followed by a company of West Austra- 
lians, nearly as lamblike as himself. Through the 
smoke and haze of battle, the C.O. had seen the 
massive man thrusting, parrying, clubbing, tearing his 
way like some human avalanche through all opposi- 
tion. Yet when the horrible melee was at an end, 
and Pozieres was won, the man who had been so ruth- 


‘ TA HELL WL THE KAISER ' 


229 

less was seen striding distractedly from place to place, 
looking for a red-headed Irish boy who had been at 
his elbow in the early stages of the fray. 

' Ha’ ye seen ma wee mannie ? I ha’ mislaid him 
somewheres. Wae’s me ! A clean forgot th' puir 
buckie in th’ thick o’ th' f editin'. A'm feared he’s 
doon an’ oot.’ 

They tried to cheer him by bidding him remember 
Ginger's phenomenal luck. 

‘ The puir wee mannie. A’m feared he’s an angel 
th’ noo,’ was all McGlusky could groan, as he con- 
tinued his search amid the smoke, and at that the 
irreverent Anzacs, with the reek of battle and sudden 
death still all around them, chuckled at the idea of 
Ginger as an angel. 

‘ If that scarlet topped imp is in heaven,' drawled 
Snowy, ‘ I’ll lay six to four he got in through a hole 
in the roof. Why/ he added, ‘ I don’t think they’d 
keep Ginger in the other place as a permanent boarder 
if they could help it,’ and that was the general con- 
census of opinion, for Ginger had been leaving foot- 
prints on the sands of time during his stay in France. 
Not that the boy was bad, but he was possessed of a 
spirit of devilry that made him the life and the bur- 
den of a whole brigade. The only person he never 
played tricks on was McGlusky, whose kindness to 
him he never forgot. For any one else he had neither 
respect nor fear — padre or general, it was all one to 
Ginger, if he saw an opening for his spirit of mischief 
to uncork itself. Even the transport mules knew 
him, and kept an unusually wary eye open when he 
was round. Yet he was a welcome guest at every 
bivouac, and it was a bad fit of the blues his angel 


230 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


voice could not charm away, and the soldiers forgave 
him his diablerie for the sake of his singing. 

McGlusky was sweating with anxiety, when at last 
he came upon the boy, sitting upon an overturned 
gun, smoking a cigarette and dangling three German 
helmets from a strap. 

* A thocht ye were dead, ye wee gommerill,’ was the 
man’s rough greeting. 

Ginger explained volubly that he was the livest 
kind of a corpse in the vicinity. McGlusky pointed 
an admonitory finger at the German helmets ; he did 
not like the idea of taking anything, even a helmet, 
from the dead. 

‘ Put th’ helmets doon, laddie ; it’s no’ decent ta 
tak’ them.’ 

In the twinkling of an eye Ginger formed his line 
of defence ; he wanted those helmets ; he could 
barter them for many things his soul craved for in 
the villages behind the lines. He put all the pathos 
he could summon into his voice, as he tossed the 
trophies down at his feet. 

‘ Och, an’ indade, sorr, Oi didn’t think ut wud be 
yerself wud make a poor bhoy break his oath on th’ 
cross.’ 

* Wee mannie, ye ken weel A wud na dae sic a thing. 
What word did ye swear to ? ’ 

Ginger’s big eyes grew wistful ; he could look like 
one of Michael Angelo’s saints when he wanted to. 

* Yez moind Joe McNamara, sorr ? ’ 

* A dae — weel,’ was the short response, for Joe, 
though a man grown, was a boy in heart, and just such 
another as Ginger, and it was a fetish with Mac that 
McNamara had led his puir wee laddie into a good 



McGlusky was sweating with anxiety, when at last 
he came upon the boy sitting upon an overturned 
gun, smoking a cigarette and dangling three German 
helmets from a strap. \P a § e 2 3 0, 






' TA HELL WL THE KAISER’ 


231 


deal of mischief, though as the Flamingo remarked, 

* old scratch himself couldn’t do much leading with 
Ginger.’ 

The imp let a faraway look steal into his^eyes, 
and his usually clear voice was thick, as he whispered, 

* Poor Joe.’ 

‘ Dom Joe McNamara ; he was a fine fechter ; but 
he ’ 

‘ Och, sorr, wud yez spake ill o’— th’ — dead ? ’ 

With two big strides McGlusky was at Ginger’s 
side, his arms around him. 

‘ Wee mannie, A didna ken, A didna ken, an’ A kenned 
ye were awfu’ fond o’ Joe. Hoo did he dee ? ’ 

' A big shell blowed him inter eight hundred and 
ninety-four bits, sorr. Och, wirra, wirra, sorra’s th’ 
day f’r poor Joe.’ 

A badly smothered laugh came from the smoky 
gloom near by where Snowy was standing, unknown 
to the man and lad. 

‘ Losh,’ muttered McGlusky, ruminating over Gin- 
ger’s arithmetic, ' yon shell maun ha’ gie’d puir Joe 
a skelp.’ 

‘ Oi promised Joe, sorr, Oi’d send a helmet to his 
mother, an’ wan to his sister in Buenos Aires.’ 

‘ Hoo cud ye, laddie, if he was blowed ter blazes in 
wee bits ? There cud na ha’ been eneuch o’ him left 
ta mak’ a promise ta.’ 

It took a good deal to stump Ginger, and a little 
thing like that was not going to do it. 

‘ Oi made the promise, sorr, whin Joe was quartered 
wid us, sorr, when we was buildin’ th’ airship ; he — he 
had a presentiment he *was soon goin’ to a bether 
world, sorr.’ 


232 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


‘ Did he, wee mannie ? Weel, weel, ye never can 
tell, but A had a presentiment it micht no’ be althe- 
gither a better world Joe wud be trackin’ tae ; he was 
awfu’ joco’.’ 

‘ Oi’ll not be able to kape me worrud to me dead — 
pal.’ 

As he uttered this lament, Ginger rose from the gun 
and started to move off, but Mac snatched up the 
three helmets attached by a strap, and thrust them 
on the imp. 

‘ Here, mannie, tak’ ’em, an’ as long as ye leeve be 
as ye air th’ day ; A’m awfu’ prood ta see ye thinkin’ 
so much o’ y’r word ; there ha’ been times when A 
thocht ye had a wee bittie too little respec’ f’r th’ 
truth,’ and with a parting pat on the shoulder the 
giant strode off to attend to his duties, and Snowy 
materialized from the shadows. 

‘ You awful little liar ; Joe McNamara isn’t dead ; 
he’s in England on furlough. I got a letter from him 
yesterday. What ’re you goin’ to do with those hel- 
mets, Ginger ? ’ 

‘ Goin’ ter give you wan, Shnowy.’ 

' All right, hand it over, and, say, kid, if the Old 
Timer ever catches you foolin’ him he’ll skin you alive.’ 

‘ Och, ring off ; think Oi won’t spend most o’ what 
I git fer the helmets on things f’r him ? ’ 

‘ I know you will, or I’d boot you now myself. Wliy 
in thunder do you lie like that ? ' 

‘ Och, cut ut out, Shnowy ; ye’ve no imagination 
at all, at all ; ut’s not lyin’, ut’s what th’ padre calls 
me unthrained artistic timperamint ; Oi’m only prac- 
tisin’ now, Shnowy ; some day O’im goin’ ter write a 
book; ut’s — ut’s bom in me, ut’s jaynius, an’ com- 


‘TA HELL WL THE KAISER ’ 


233 


mon sojers who don’t know enough ter come in out 
o’ the wet are alwis jealous av jaynius,’ and Ginger 
disappeared out of the reach of Snowy’s boot on the 
run, for at odd intervals there wasn’t a scrap of cere- 
mony about the famous sharpshooter, and, as Ginger 
knew by experience, he was nearly as good with his 
boot as with a rifle. 

McGlusky helped his comrades consolidate the 
ground won at Pozieres, and then they settled down 
to hold it, for what they took they held. The Ger- 
mans set themselves the task of making the new 
Anzac quarters as uncomfortable as possible, so many 
guns did they train upon the spot, the range of which 
they had to a mathematical exactitude that the won- 
der was how anything with life in it could remain in 
the trenches. 

* It’s rainin' shells,’ grumbled the Flamingo. * This 
ain’t the handiwork o’ man ; the bally clouds are 
droppin’ iron.’ 

' It’s the handiwork o’ man right enough, Flamingo,' 
retorted Snowy ; * it’s Bill Kaiser’s doin’s, damn him ; 
he must have a lot o’ shares in iron mines somewhere, 
an’ wants ter send up th’ stock.’ 

‘ It’s no’ rainin' iron, ma buckies ; losh, it’s a deluge/ 
was McGlusky’s contribution to the chorus. 

‘ Bedad, Bill Kaiser ought ta ha’ been a blacksmith, 
he’s so mighty fond o’ throwin’ iron about,’ chortled 
Ginger, who was tying up a nasty graze on the calf of 
his left leg, caused by a glancing splinter. ‘ Hope 
Oi’ll get a shot at Windy Bill one o’ these days,’ added 
the youngster viciously. 

‘ Hullo, Ginger, lost y’r luck at last, and got a little 
bit to go on with, eh ? ’ 


234 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


It was Snowy’s voice, and Ginger replied in his 
finest sarcastic vein : 

‘No, you idjit, Oi did this meself ter dodge goin’ 
ter th’ padre’s soul drill.’ 

He was noted for such replies. Once when taking 
a badly wounded comrade to the base, a civilian who 
by some means had blown in on a tour of inspection, 
and had discovered that the ‘ base ’ was near enough 
for him, meandered over to Ginger’s wounded pal 
and asked, ‘ Did he get that in hand to hand fighting, 
my lad ? ’ 

* No, sorr,’ gurgled Ginger, ‘ he’s too — good ter 
foight ; he was shavin’ himself wid a table knife, an’ th’ 
handle bruk, sorr.’ 

On another occasion, when minding a maimed man, 
a fussy civilian said unctuously : ‘Ah, gallant chap, 
gallant chap, got his wounds going over the parapet, 
eh? ’ 

' Och, no, sorr, he was dustin’ a chair f’r his officer, 
an’ he fell off ut,’ and every one grinned except the 
fussy civilian. 

Snowy, who loved him, came and helped him tie 
his bandage, and asked slyly : 

‘ How’s your book gettin’ on, Ginger ; wrote any of 
it yet ? ’ 

‘ Gettin’ on foine, Snowy ; will yez lend me two 
bob ter buy some paper ter write it on, an’ Oi’ll put 
yez in ut.’ 

Snowy took him by the collar and shook him. 

‘ You and your book, Ginger, you scut — where’s 
the five bob I lent you and Joe McNamara to get post 
cards from Paris for the French artist chap to draw 
our pictures on ? ’ 


‘TA HELL WL THE KAISER ’ 


235 


' Joe’s got your five bob, Shnowy — an’ he’s in Eng- 
land,’ chuckled the imp. 

' Hello, looks like poison gas cornin’,’ shouted the 
Flamingo. 

Ginger picked up his rifle, and hobbled off to join 
McGlusky. 

‘ If ut’s poison gas cornin’ the Boches won’t be far 
behind ut,’ he snarled, and began jamming cartridges 
home. 

A gun of theirs pushed forward a bit, and came 
rapidly into action. 

‘ Firin’ shrapnel point blank ; that luks as eef you 
were richt, wee laddie.’ 

‘ Bedad, Oi’m right, sorr, that’s Major Edmonds in 
charge o’ th’ gun, an’ he’s alwis in th’ thick of ut. Och, 
sorr, there’s three of his men down.’ 

A little group of Anzacs jumped out of a trench and 
ran to take the places of the fallen men by the gun. 
The major, who was little more than a boy himself, 
and had won his rank on battle-fields, tossed a smile 
of welcome to the volunteers, for he knew their sort, 
and went on sweeping the German trenches with 
shrapnel. Ginger had been peering through the haze, 
not at the trenches, but up the stretch of ‘ no man’s 
land ’ to the right. Those intervening spaces between 
the enemies were always ' no man’s land ’ until they 
were taken. The boy caught sight of something 
through the haze. 

' Here’s a dispatch-rider cornin’,’ he yelled, ' racin’ 
his machine like blazes.’ 

‘ Racin’ through gas, right under the muzzles o’ 
the Boche sharpshooters’ rifles, too,’ snapped Snowy,, 
his usual drawl gone for the moment. 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


236 

‘ Noo, laddies, a’ ready, we maun save yon rider/ 

As he spoke McGlusky took a chance, and sprawled 
his body over the parapet, and Ginger, Snowy and 
the Flamingo did the same, the four deadliest rifles 
in France poised and ready. Snowy was the first to 
loose off ; he didn’t say what he fired at, and no one 
asked ; they knew he never got jumpy and wasted 
lead. Then Mac’s rifle cracked, then the Flamingo’s, 
but Ginger never fired ; he was like a piece of stone 
still as granite, his fingers coiled round his trigger. 
Snowy saw him out of the tail of his eye, and mut- 
tered ‘ Good kid.’ The dispatch-rider was coming 
at a great pace, his machine jumping and bumping 
over the shell-torn ground. Something hit him, for 
he swayed and sagged in his saddle. Then the whole 
German line leapt to life, and a murderous rifle fire 
opened on the Anzac line. The Flamingo dropped 
his rifle, lifted his body up by placing his palms on the 
earth, then he slid back into the trench again in a 
crumpled heap, falling as only dead men fall. The 
Flamingo had tempted fate once too often. The 
dispatch-rider pitched off his machine. McGlusky 
sprang up then. Racing like a wild steer he went 
through gas, lead and iron, as the men who carry his 
blood have always gone in peril. Snowy, leaning far 
out, on his left elbow, balancing his rifle lovingly, 
watched for an enemy sharpshooter, though lead was 
splashing all around him. Ginger lay close by him, 
so quiet one might have counted him a dead man. 
McGlusky stooped and picked up the ‘ rider ’ and saw 
it was Geoff Lamard who had been with him in Africa, 
and as he did so, a sharpshooter in the German lines 
lifted his body above the parapet. Then Ginger fired, 


* TA HELL WL THE KAISER ’ 


237 


and the German slid down again ; this time he was 
crumpled up. But others were there ready as the 
Anzacs themselves to take chances, for the German, 
though a military bully, is not the craven he has so 
often been represented to be. Snowy had always 
been noted for the rapidity of his shooting, but never 
had he shot as on this day, else had the big Scot and 
his ‘ rider ’ been riddled with lead. Ginger, too, was 
at his best, for no blood is steadier than Irish blood, 
when once it is under control. McGlusky was coming 
towards them with the ‘ rider ’ in his arms, and they 
noticed that the big Scot wobbled strangely, yet they 
knew that the * rider/ though a heavy man, would have 
been nothing for him to carry. Suddenly Mac went 
down and lay tangled up with the body of the soldier 
he had been carrying. Before Snowy or Ginger could 
move they heard a yell, and saw a man bound towards 
McGlusky and lift him across his shoulder and run to 
their trench. 

‘ Good boy — its Murrimbidgee.’ 

The words came from Snowy with a chuckle. It 
was the gambler. He dropped Mac like a sack of oats 
into the trench, and turned back for the ‘ rider/ 

' Keep him covered, Ginger.’ 

It was Snowy, cool as of old time, who knew that in 
such an emergency a sharpshooter’s rifle is worth ten 
men’s courage or strength, and they kept him covered 
until he clambered into the trench, and an officer 
came and took the * rider’s ’ dispatch from his tunic 
pocket. A doctor, working under that heavy fire, re- 
ported on the rider and McGlusky, in his terse way* 
and the padre, who was there too, and loved Ginger 
in spite of his sins — or perhaps because of them, for 


238 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


the best padres are very human — came along and 
shouted above the rifle fire : 

' Come under the parapet, and drag that boy in too, 
Snowy. The Old Timer and Geoff the rider have 
both got a “ Blighty ” wound, boys, but they aren’t 
going west this trip.’ 

‘ Thanks, padre, that makes good hearing. Now, 
Ginger, clean your rifle, unless you want it to shoot 
round corners.’ 

‘ Hould on a minute, Snowy.’ Ginger pushed his 
way to the padre. 

* Well, me son ? ’ 

' Och, padre, Oi want yez to boot me.’ 

‘ All in good time, but this ain’t the time, me 
son.’ 

‘ Oi tuk the flask av whisky from yer pocket three 
nights ago, padre.’ 

The padre’s eyes twinkled. 

' Was that why ye came an’ told me th’ place was 
haunted ? ’ 

* Och, sorr, so ut was ; there was spirits there — 
before Oi tuk ’em.’ 

' Did ye drink the stuff, Ginger ? ’ 

‘ Oi did not, padre ; Oi gave every drain av ut to a 
wounded kiltie.’ 

‘ Why did you take my whisky ? Wouldn’t some 
one else’s have done, boy ? ’ 

‘ Oi thought, padre, ye’d mixed yours wid holy 
wather, an’ Oi knew if anything wud save the kiltie, 
that would.' 

The padre’s hand fell on the lad’s ear, and Ginger, 
feeling this was intended as a sort of benediction (it 
was the kind of benediction he usually got), went off 


‘ TA HELL WF THE KAISER' 


239 

happily, whilst the padre muttered just loud enough 
to be heard in heaven : 

‘ God bless th' little divil ; it’s just raw mischief he's 
full of ; an’ as f’r his lyin’, it ain’t lyin’ at all ; it’s un- 
developed artistic temperament. He’ll be an author 
some day — if he’s not hanged.’ 

When Ginger got back to Snowy, he heard that 
artist remark : 

* The poison gas is liftin’ right over us ; some sort 
of air-current spoiling the Bodies’ little game.’ 

So he cleaned his rifle during a lull in the shelling, 
and he and Snowy talked. 

‘ What made you tell the padre you thought his 
whisky was mixed with holy water ? You knew it 
wasn’t.’ 

* Can’t explain them things ter you,’ said Ginger 
loftily. ‘ They’re beyant yer understands ’. Oi 
tould yez before, ut’s jaynius ; Oi’m inspired, loike 
Oi will be when Oi write me book, if ye’ll lend me the 
money f’r ter buy th’ paper.' 

Snowy looked at him very steadily. 

‘ I know you inside out, you streak o’ sin, an’ 
yet you’ve wheedled lots o’ silver out o’ me.’ 

' You’ll be proud o’ me some day, Shnowy,’ was Gin- 
ger’s audacious reply, as he squinted down the barrel 
of his rifle to see if it was clean. After a pause the 
honey-sweet voice came again : * Wud yez loike me 
first book dedicated to yerself, Shnowy ? ’ 

‘ I’d like my five bob back that I gave you when 
you said the French soldier artist was going ter paint 
all our pictures — yes, I’d like that five bob back.’ 

* Och, ferget it, Shnowy ; yez ought ter cultivate 
a soul above thrifles.' 


240 GINGER AND McGLUSKY 

‘ What became of the French sojer artist, any- 
way ? * 

' Och, th’ poor man, Oi nivver seen anything loike 
ut, Shnowy : a shell tuk him just in th’ back -a v- 
beyant.’' 

Ginger covered his eyes with his hands, as if to shut 
out the memory of an awful sight, and Snowy 
manoeuvred so as to get a good kick at the ‘ back-av- 
beyant * of Ginger’s anatomy, but the genius was watch- 
ing him through his fingers, and promptly backed up 
against the far side of the trench. Ginger was about 
the most wide-awake ‘ genius ’ that ever came to this 
planet, and would surely know how to take care of 
himself with publishers if he ever had any. 

' Well, tell me about the Frenchman.’ 

Ginger leant upon his rifle. 

‘ Th’ shell tuk him just where Oi tould yez, Shnowy, 
an’ blew him into sivin hundred an’ ’ 

‘ That will do ; don’t you go workin’ off none o’ 
your arithmetic on me, you — you copper-headed toad. 
You put your arithmetic in your book. I don’t be- 
lieve there ever was any French artist.’ 

' There was thin.’ 

‘ Well, what did you do with my five bob ? Buy 
a tombstone to put on his grave ? ’ 

‘ Give me a fag, Shnowy, an’ Oi’ll tell yez straight.’ 

After a moment’s hesitation the sharsphooter did 
so, for there was little he could refuse Ginger, who 
had sat by him when he was wounded in Gallipoli, 
and sung the blues out of him. 

' It’s th’ truth yez want, an’ noromancin,’ Shnowy ? 
Well,’ in answer to the affirmative nod, ‘ me an’ Joe 
McNamara was goin’ ter the village behind th’ lines 


' TA HELL WF THE KAISER ' 241 

ter post yer five bob ter Paris, an’ we met a girl sellin’ 
cigarettes.’ 

‘ Yes, well ? ’ 

‘ Well, that’s where we mislaid yer five bob, Shnowy." 

‘ I believe you’ve told me the truth for once. Joe 
couldn’t say “ no ” to a girl to save his Irish soul, an" 
you couldn’t say " no ” to a cigarette, Ginger.’ 

* Oi didn’t, Shnowy,’ chuckled the insolent image, 
holding out his hand, and Snowy, remembering the 
convalescent days in Gallipoli, when Ginger had * found ’ 
fags and brought them to him, handed over his cigar- 
ette case, simply remarking : 

‘ Remember that lesson I gave you with the gloves 
a month ago — I’ll give you another later on.’ 

* Oi’m through wid boxin’,’ remarked Ginger loftily. 

* Boxin’s low.’ 

Just as night was setting in, the Germans came to try 
and retake Pozieres with the steel ; they flung them- 
selves upon the position like sea waves on granite 
coasts, and the Anzacs flung them back, but none of 
the men who were in that bitter fighting would ever 
call the opposing side cowards. The German proved 
himself a mad brute-beast under military rules in con- 
quered territory ; he spared neither matron nor maid, 
old men nor little children ; he ravished women sworn 
to Holy Church, and shambled priests upon the altar- 
stone ; he looted like a Hun and burnt like a destroy- 
ing angel ; but in the hour of battle, give the devil his 
due, he knew how to die, and there were piles of dead 
in front of the Anzac trenches when at last the Ger- 
man host rolled back broken and beaten. 


16 


CHAPTER XII 
THE ADVENT OF GWENNIE 


M cGLUSKY had got a ‘ Blighty ’ wound, nothing 
to make a fuss about, or, as he phrased it to 
Ginger, ' Wee mannie, A'd tak’ yin mair like it f’r a 
bottle o’ Bass.’ Murrimbidgee had also a souvenir sent 
from Germany, and the two of them were despatched 
to Blighty to recover. Ginger and Snowy managed to 
get down to the base to see them ere they departed — 
at least, they went to see the Old Timer off ; no one 
thought much about the gambler, except the padre. 
The two wounded men were lying close to one another, 
and whilst Ginger was talking to Mac, Snowy, noticing 
Murrimbidgee, turned to him and said : 

4 Feelin’ much pain, cully ? 1 
' Nothing to make a psalm about, Snowy/ 

The sharpshooter fidgeted uneasily for a moment, 
then looking down into the dark handsome face, he 
said : 

‘ I don’t suppose you care a damn what I think, 
Murrimbidgee ; don’t fancy you care what any one 
thinks for that matter, son ; but I’d like to say you won 
the V.C., whether you get it or not, the day you brought 
the Old Timer and Geoff Lamarde in under fire. I’ve 
seen a few big things done here an’ in Gallipoli, but 
that was the biggest.’ 


242 


THE ADVENT OF GWENNIE 


2.43 


A quick rush of colour swept through the palor of 
the wounded Anzac's face, and his eyes grew wistful 
as he met the gaze of the sharpshooter. 

‘ Cut out the V.C., Snowy ; I didn't want it — got no 
one who’d be proud if I won it.' 

‘ I don’t go much on ornaments myself, Murrim- 
bidgee, but I’d like that one.’ 

‘ You’ve won it a dozen times, Snowy ; all the 
brigade knows that.’ 

‘ Shucks ! ’ 

Something in the gambler’s eyes seemed to strike 
Snowy. He dropped one hand on Murrimbidgee's 
slender fingers and gripped, and a light that no one 
had ever seen before leapt into the gamester’s eyes. 

‘ You — mean — it, Snowy ? ’■ 

The words came in a whisper, but the sharpshooter 
heard, and for the first time understood. He nodded : 

‘ Sure.’ 

That was all he said, but the gambler’s lips quivered, 
as he turned his eyes away. 

A strange clergyman pushed himself in upon the 
scene. He meant well, but he spoilt a moment that 
was pregnant with destiny for the wounded man. 

‘ Can I do anything for you ? ’ 

He addressed his words to the gamester. Murrim- 
bidgee looked at him, and his old cynical smile came 
back to his beautifully chiselled lips. 

‘ Yes, sir.’ 

* What, my man ? ’ 

' There’s something in the breast pocket of my 
tunic.’ 

' I’ll get it.’ 

The cleric got the tunic and saw the outline of what 


244 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


looked like a testament or prayer-book. He pointed 
to the outline and smiled. 

‘ Ah, you prize this, a — er — never failing help in 
time of trouble, eh ? ’ 

The sardonic smile deepened on the curved lips. 

‘ I’ve never known it fail me — sir.’ 

The cleric thrust his hand into the pocket, and drew 
forth — a pack of well-thumbed cards. He dropped 
the pack on the stretcher. 

' Don’t be cynical, my lad. God send you may 
replace the pack with a Bible someday. You’re too 
good a soldier for this kind of thing.’ 

Then the cleric left. 

* What’s the — card — on top, Snowy ? ’ 

' Knave of diamonds, Murrimbidgee.’ 

r Good old destiny,’ jeered the gambler ; then with 
a sneer : ' That sky pilot is a four flusher, Snowy, or he 
wouldn’t have jumped his job like that.’ 

‘ Perhaps destiny was turnin’ up f’r him, son, not 
f’r you.’ 

Ginger was saying good-bye to his veteran friend. 

' Och, an’ yez’U be takin’ care o’ yourself in Blighty, 
sorr.’ 

‘ Dinna fash, wee mannie, there’s naething ta be 
afraid o’ in Blighty.’ 

‘ Bedad an’ there is, sorr ; Oi’m more afraid f’r 
yez there than Oi am here in th’ trenches. What wid 
thim widdies an’ lan’ladies ye’ll be in mortal peril o’ 
losin’ y’r freedom, sorr, if Oi’m not there ter protect 
yez.’ 

‘ Hoots, buckie, A can tak’ care o’ masel’.’ 

‘ Ye can not , sorr. Yez think ye’re th’ divil wid th’ 
wimmin, but anything in a petticoat can twist yez 


THE ADVENT OF GWENNIE 


245 


round uts finger like er string ; if Oi don't have th’ 
luck ter be wounded an’ come across ter yer rescue, one 
av thim she-pirates will be yankin’ yez off ter church 
an’ marryin’ yez widin a month ; thin how’ll yez take 
me prospectin’ f’r gold across th’ sea ? ’ 

‘ A’m theenkin’ ye no ha’ th’ richts o’t, wee buckie ; 
A confess A ha’ a fatal charm f’r th’ wummin, but they 
a’ ken A’m no’ a marryin’ mon.’ 

' Indade,’ remarked Ginger sarcastically. * If yez 
only knew how often Oi’ve pulled yez out o' th' jaws 
av matrimony, ^ye wouldn’t be so cocksure, sorr.’ 

* Ha’ ye been drinkin’, Ginger ? ' 

‘ Divil a sup, sorr. Do yez moind th’ lan’lady in 
Fetter Lane, th’ wan ye asked ter marry yez ? ’ 

‘ A was a wee bit fu’ o’ whusky at th’ time, Ginger.' 

' Ye was, sorr, but she wud ha’ held yez to ut.' 

* Th’ wumman didn’t, wee mannie.’ 

* No, sorr, because Oi had a worrud wid her in 
private ; Oi told her you had a woife and nine childer 
in Australia ; Oi said Oi was yer stepson an’ ye’d 
married me mother, an’ Oi said yez was wan av th’ 
Elders av th’ great Mormon church in Salt Lake City 
in Australia.' 

* Salt Lake City is in America, not Australia, ye 
scut.’ 

' Th’ lan’lady didn’t know that, sorr.' 

‘ Ye tuk away ma character, laddie.’ 

‘ If Oi didn’t, she’d ha’ tuk yez ter church or — or a 
registry office, sorr ; she was powerful set on get tin’ 
married, that wan.’ 

McGlusky ruminated over the information given him ; 
then he asked plaintively : 

' What is it th’ hens see in masel' that makes 'em 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


246 

want ma, laddie ? A’m no’ a winder-plate ter look at/ 

' Och, sorr, some wimmin are like camels/ 

4 A dinna theenk they’re that bad, buckie.’ 

4 Oi don’t mane in regard ter there looks, sorr, but 
in — in their appetite f ’r men. If yez turn a camel out 
on good grass, ut won’t ate a blade av ut ; th’ baste’ll 
wander f’r ten miles till ut finds a scraggy auld thorn 
bush an’ ate that, thorns an’ all, an’ smack uts lips 
f’r more. Some wimmin are like that too ; they won’t 
cock an oye at a good-lookin’ man, but show 'em a 
freak in trousers, an’ ’ 

* Ye’re no’ complimentary, ye wee bounder. Eef 
A was no’ on ma back A’d skelp ye, A wad that.’ 

As the ambulance train pulled out of the depot. 
Ginger turned to the sharpshooter. 

* Och, Shnowy, Oi wisht ut was yerself had th’ Blighty 
wound instead av Murrimbidgee.’ 

4 You’re a nice kid.’ 

4 Well, Oi do, Shnowy. What does a wound or two 
matter ? You’d be wid th’ Auld Timer.’ 

4 What’s wrong with him, son ? ’ 

4 Wrong,’ grumbled Ginger bitterly, 4 when he’s 
wid us he’s safe, barrin' th’ fair chances av war, but 
Oi’m afraid av thim faymales annexin’ him.’ 

4 Is there any one in particular, kid, or is it just the 
usual danger we all run of annexation ? ’ 

4 Are ye joshin’ me, Shnowy ? ’ 

4 Me ? Do I ever josh any one ? ’ 

4 Th’ saints only knows when y’r not joshin’, Shnowy ; 
yez never smile an’ yer oyes don’t twinkle, but Oi 
never know when yez say wan thing that yez don’t 
mane another.’ 

4 1 meant just what I said, son ; woman is the huntress 


THE ADVENT OF GWENNIE 


247 


always ; she has been all through the ages ; an’ she’s so 
blamed clever at it that whilst she’s huntin’ a man her 
hardest, she makes the fool think he's doin’ the huntin’, 
an’ when she gets him in a corner where he can't escape, 
she flops her head on his shoulder an' sez : “ I sur- 
render,” an’ she puts her arms around his neck an’ sez : 
“ Darlin’, you were too strong ferme, I’m yours,” an’ 
she means all the time he’s hers, an' he mostly is.’ 

‘ Well, Shnowy, if wan av thim bags th' Auld Timer, 
Oi’m goin’ ter board wid thim, an’ if she ain’t screamin’ 
f’r a divorce widin a year, yez can call me a Hun.’ 

McGlusky had had a visit from a gallant young 
Anzac officer just prior to the advent of his two com- 
rades, though they knew nothing of it. The officer 
had brought a small souvenir of the great battle of 
Pozieres, and requested Mac to deliver it to his sister 
in London as soon as he was well enough to get out of 
hospital. 

‘ A’ll dae it wi’ pleasure, sir, an’ be proud ta tak' a 
message f’r yin like yersel’. A’ve seen ye fecht, an’ a 
de’il o’ a thorn ye’ve been in th’ side o' Windy Wullie 
an’ his Huns.' 

The officer smiled, well pleased to hear such praise 
from the old warrior, who would not, as he well knew, 
stoop to flatter a prince or a peer. 

' All right, Mac,’ he responded cheerily, * you go 
to Blighty and get patched up and come back quickly ; 
we'll want you before we get to Berlin.’ 

The wounds that McGlusky and Murrimbidgee had 
received, though painful, were less serious than the 
surgeons at the front had imagined, or possibly it may 
have been the wondrous vitality of the men born and 
bred in the sunlit lands that accounted for the rapid 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


248 

progress they made at the superb hospital at Harefield 
in England. They were placed in beds side by side, 
but there was no very deep love between these two. 
The veteran, who knew the debt he was under to the 
gambler, did his level best to grow warm towards him, 
but Murrimbidgee, cynical as some thousand-year-old 
man might be, noticed the effort, and froze up all the 
veteran’s good intentions, and when Mac in a spirit of 
brotherhood tried to inoculate him with his own 
home-made brand of theology, the gambler met him 
in debate and routed him on all points. Murrimbidgee 
never got angry, though Mac very often did. Cool and 
seemingly passionless, the gamester with his clear, 
analytical brain was sure to beat a man like McGlusky 
on such debatable ground as theology, for he believed 
nothing, reverenced nothing, whilst Mac believed and 
reverenced much. One day after he had been badly 
routed in an argument concerning life after death, 
Mac, raising himself upon one elbow, glared across at 
the gamester whose coldly smiling face rested upon the 
pillows, and said : 

' Mon, A believe ye were born wi’ a dead grey soul 
inside o’ yer body ; ye love naething on earth or in 
heaven ; ye haven't a human spark in ye. Brave as 
a lion in battle ye air — a ken that — but love ! Losh, 
laddie, ye never knew the meanin’ o’ th’ word. A dinna 
believe ye loved th’ father that begat ye, or th’ mither 
that bore ye.’ 

‘ Right, Old Timer, I didn’t.' 

A sullen fire gleamed in the veteran’s eyes. 

' A owe ye ma life, buckie, but before ma Maker A 
say A’d maist as soon ha’ lost it than owe it ta 

ye.” 


THE ADVENT OF GWENNIE 


249 

* Cut that out ; I’d have done as much — or more — 
for a dog, Mac.’ 

The veteran glowered at the handsome, cynical, 
sneering young face. 

‘ Ye’re the handsomest, wickedest, coldest mon A 
ever saw. Ye say ye’d ha’ done mair f’r a dawg ; why 
did ye go inta that hell o’ German fire f’r me an’ Geoff 
th’ “ rider ” ? ’ 

* Ever been tired of life, Old Timer ? ’ 

' No,’ thundered McGlusky ; * life’s a gran’ thing, a 
glorious, splendid thing.’ Then in a hushed and 
hoarse whisper.' * Life, every human life, is a little 
bit o’ God Almichty, crowded f’r a time an’ a purpose 
inta a human carcase. Tell me, did ye ha’ no ither 
reason f’r daein’ what ye did ? ’ 

The handsome head opposite lifted a moment from 
the pillow ; the sneering smile left the clean-cut lips ; 
the usually mocking jibing voice came soft and sweet 
like the whisper of a spring breeze through young green 
leaves. 

‘ You were Snowy’s pal, and — he would have been 
broken-hearted if you had gone west.’ 

McGlusky gasped. Rude as his soul was, rough and 
uncouth as he was in every fibre of his body, brain 
and spirit, he knew he had been permitted one swift 
glance into the wells of a human soul. He reached 
out a big hand. 

* Losh, laddie, ye’re no’ so dead inside yersel’ as 

in ma eegnorance A thocht ’ 

* Go to hell, Old Timer.’ And Murrimbidgee spun 
over on to his other shoulder, and turned his back 
on the veteran’s outstretched hand. 

When the doctor came round later, Murrimbidgee 


250 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


asked that he might be removed to the other end of 
the ward, away from Mac. 

‘ Why ? * demanded the doctor. 

‘ Can’t stand him, Doc ; he’s too busy trying to 
patch up my immortal soul, and I came here to have 
my body patched up, that’s all.’ 

The medico, who knew them both, looked hard 
into the sneering young face. He did not like the 
gambler. 

‘ Sure you’ve got a soul, Murrimbidgee ? ’ 

' Sure you’ve got one yourself, Doc ? ’ 

‘ Yes, I’m sure.’ 

‘ Well, Doc, move me to the other end of the ward 
and mend me, and when I’m well I’ll play you a game 
of poker for the pair.’ 

' You’ve played with a better player than I and — • 
lost, I’m afraid, Murrimbidgee,’ was the stern retort. 

‘ I’m not squealin’, Doc.’ 

They shifted the gambler because it was their duty 
to mend bodies, but none of them guessed that he had 
asked to be moved because of that glimpse he had 
given McGlusky into his inner self. 

One day some visitors walking through the ward 
stopped at Murrimbidgee’s bedside and chatted with 
him as with others. One of the group was a fair- 
haired lass from Devon, as sweet and dainty a maid 
as ever filled a man’s eye. Her friends were kindly 
folk who talked the usual banalities to the wounded 
soldiers, and Murrimbidgee’s caustic tongue was at 
work upon them, for the scapegrace had more intellect 
than is vouchsafed to most men, and nothing pleased 
him more than to amuse himself at the expense of 
visitors who treated soldiers as demi-gods whilst 


THE ADVENT OF GWENNIE 


25i‘ 


wounded, for he knew that many of these folk would 
treat soldiers coldly enough a month after war ceased. 
One fussy gentleman remarked to the gamester : 

* It is splendid to see men like you fighting our 
battles ; you must love the grand old Empire to come 
fourteen thousand miles and risk life and limb for it.’ 

‘ Don’t think you’ve quite got it right, sir,’ said 
Murrimbidgee sweetly ; * it was five shillings a day and 
a bit of adventure brought me into this game. Fight- 
ing Germans is less monotonous than shearing sheep 
or sinking post holes in the wayback country.’ 

His smile, his mocking voice and his handsome face 
caught the eyes and ears of the Devon lass, and she 
gazed at him intently. He caught her gaze, and for 
the first time in his bitter life the lure of sex stirred 
him. She was lily fair, and he as dark as a Spanish 
creole. For quite a dramatic moment blue eyes and 
dark brown held each other, but they spoke no word. 
Then the voice of the fussy man crossed that line of 
silent communion : 

‘ You — er — surprise me, my man ; I didn't think 
you Colonials were mercenaries ; I thought you were 
too brave for that.’ 

‘ I only spoke for myself, sir. As for bravery* 
most of our chaps are brave, but I was not built that 

way. I’m all right when I’m excited, but ' He 

threw one slender hand out in an explanatory gesture. 

‘ Well, well, you surprise me, young fellow.' 

The fussy person turned away abruptly, and his party 
followed him, and as they moved from bed to bed 
Murrimbidgee’s eyes never left the slender, graceful 
figure of the Devon lass. The group reached McGlusky ’s 
bed, and soon the fussy individual and the veteran 


1252 GINGER AND McGLUSKY 

were in the midst of an imperialistic debate. The 
Devon lass slipped away from her friends and came 
back to Murrimbidgee. She had a small bunch of 
flowers in her hand, and she laid the bouquet by his 
side, and again blue eyes and brown signalled the old 
sex signals that came to the earth with the first man 
and woman, and will remain until the last pair flit 
from this planet. 

' Thank you, you are very kind/ 

Few, if any, of the gambler’s comrades would have 
recognized his voice as he uttered those simple words, 
fewer still would have known the expression upon 
his face. The gambler had never mixed with good 
women, but he knew one when he saw her as surely as 
a humming bird knows honey. A soft flush spread 
over the girl’s face. 

' Why did you speak of yourself to my uncle as 
you did just now ? ’ 

‘ Why shouldn’t I ? ’ 

‘ Because it was not the truth.’ 

' Why do you think so ? * 

* I don’t think, I know.’ 

Then, as she turned to rejoin her friends, she flashed 
a glance that was half a challenge straight into his 
eyes and said : 

‘ It was stupid to call yourself a coward ; only a 
fool would believe you.’ 

A smile like a lightning flash lit up his dark face. 

‘ That’s rough — decidedly rough — on your uncle, 
for he believed.’ 

The girl laughed, and at the sound of that rippling 
music many a soldier turned and looked in her direc- 
tion, and, looking smiled in sympathy. 


THE ADVENT OF GWENNIE 


253 


' She looks good enough to eat/ remarked Stock- 
whip Wilson to Sandy Green. Then, knitting his 
brows in puzzlement, he added : ' Wonder what the 
blazes Murrimbidgee could have said to make her laugh 
like that. She’s not his sort.’ 

A good many others besides Stockwhip Wilson were 
wondering the same thing. As the girl joined her 
friends, she heard McGlusky say in reply to some 
remark of her uncle’s : 

‘ Th’ dark yin at th’ far end o’ th’ ward, th’ yin 
they ca’ Murrimbidgee.’ 

* Yes, my friend, that’s the one ; is he only brave 
when he’s excited ? ’ 

Mac stared at his interlocutor. 

* Air ye pullin’ ma leg ? ’ 

' Certainly not ; no, most certainly not ; I only 
repeat his own words.’ 

‘ Sir,’ growled McGlusky impressively, ‘ yon 
buckie never gets excited ; he’ll be cooler in hell 
stokin’ fires f’r th’ souls o’ German Junkers than ye’ll 
be in heaven — if ye get there.’ 

* He’s not a coward then ? ’ 

Mac, who was sitting up in bed, craned his gaunt, 
unlovely body forward, and catching hold of the lapel 
of his questioner’s coat, snarled : 

‘ Sir, eef God A’michty doesn’a gie ye sense until 
yon laddie shows th’ white feather in danger, ye’ll 
gang hirplin’ roun’ th’ world wi’ an empty head till 
fish grow feathers.’ 

The girl gave McGlusky a smile for his defence of 
his comrade that kept the veteran awake half that 
night trying to make smiles rhyme with sunbeams* 
He didn’t connect Murrimbidgee with the sudden 


2 54 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


flash of white teeth through rose-red lips ; he knew 
nothing of the episode by the bedside of the gambler, 
and he fancied some hidden charm of his own had 
worked the miracle, for McGlusky was a man, and no 
man is ever utterly divorced from vanity where lasses 
are concerned, until some one has carved his epitaph 
on his tombstone. Vanity is the solace of the female, 
but it is the breath of life in the nostrils of the male. 

That visit of the Devon girl to Harefield hospital 
was the dawn of a new era for Murrimbidgee, and the 
nursing sisters noticed the change in him. They were 
very human, those splendid women who worked so 
tirelessly and so well for the broken warriors, and 
when they saw how the lad’s eyes watched the door 
of the ward, they said little, but they thought much. 
The Devon lass came often and visited many, but she 
always lingered long by Murrimbidgee ’s bed, and 
when she took her departure he would lie very still 
and dream dreams. One day Stockwhip Wilson, who 
had been so christened because of the explosive nature 
of his laughter, came from the gambler’s bedside with 
a look of unutterable amazement upon his battered face. 

‘ Murrimbidgee ’s got religion, got it bad,’ he 
whispered to Stringybark Allenson. He spoke as if 
the gambler’s complaint might have been cholera or 
smallpox. 

‘ He’s got something dashed bad,’ agreed Stringy- 
bark. ‘ What makes yer think it’s religion ? I 
never thought he’d catch that.' 

‘ I went to him,’ whispered Stockwhip, ‘to cheer 
him up a bit, as he seemed down in the mouth. Notice 
how quiet he’s been this last month ? Haven’t heard 
him curse once.’ 


THE ADVENT OF GWENNIE 


255 

< Yes, we’ve all noticed it ; go on with your psalm 
an’ don’t put no flowers in it.’ 

' Well, I wanted to give him a game 0’ cards — just 
ter pass th’ time, an’ he shook his blessed head an’ 
said : “ Thanks all the same, Stockwhip, I think I'm 
through with cards.” ’ 

Stringybark whistled a long, low, ruminative kind 
of whistle. 

* He don’t look as if he was dyin’, does he, Stock- 
whip ? ’ 

' Dyin’ be blanked — he’s gettin’ better of his 
wound every hour.’ 

‘ Then it must be religion — or rabies. Perhaps a 
dog bit him in Cairo.’ 

‘ You and your Cairo dog, Stringybark,’ snapped a 
nurse. ' Of course it’s religion ; he’s been seeing 
angels unawares to you ; anyway, Murrimbidgee 
thinks it’s an angel, and I don’t fancy he’s far out.’ 

Stockwhip scratched his head. 

‘ Blest if I ever thought it would be up to Murrim- 
bidgee to see angels, sister, unless,’ he added as an 
afterthought, ‘ it might be th’ queen o’ diamonds.’ 

‘ Why not the queen of hearts, you big simple- 
ton ? ’ snapped the good sister, as she whisked away 
with a roll of bandages to a waiting patient. 

It was strange that every sister in Harefield knew 
exactly what was the matter with the handsome 
reprobate, but not a man guessed. Somehow Murrim- 
bidgee and a good woman never associated themselves 
in the minds of the men ; the gambler had never 
railed at women, but his life had seemed cut off, a 
thing apart from domestic felicity, and all agreed with 
Stringybark that the change in him could only be due 


256 GINGER AND McGLUSKY 

to religion or rabies, with perhaps an odd chance in 
favour of sunstroke. 

McGlusky put Murrimbidgee’s complaint down to 
stomach trouble. 

' It’s no’ releegion, it’s his innards. Eef he wad 
let ma prescribe fr him, A wad gi’e him a herbal 
mixture o’ ma ain invention that wad shift everything 
bar his conscience and his trooser buttons.’ 

When a nurse hinted that it was an affair of the 
heart, Mac glared at her in amazement. 

' Ye say that, an’ ye ken Murrimbidgee ! Wumman, 
ha’ ye been drinkin’ ? If ye ha’, tak’ mair watter wi’ 
it next time or it wull be get tin’ ye doon an’ worryin’ 
ye.’ 

However, the ward soon had something else to 
think and talk about, and McGlusky himself became 
the cynosure of all eyes, and once again a lassie was 
the cause of the upheaval. The veteran was 
approaching the stage when wounded men begin 
to weary of bed and long for their trousers, when 
a [nurse brought a young lady to see him. She was very 
tall — half a head taller than the Devon lass and very 
slender ; her mouth was merry and her eyes wells of 
mischief. It was the sort of face that a man might 
look at for a lifetime and never weary, for each time 
he looked with understanding eyes he would discover 
a fresh charm, and unless he was a very wise man 
those clever .eyes would discover in him a new weak- 
ness, for she had the face of one who could not be a 
fool if she sat up and worked overtime trying to be 
one. The whole ward watched her with critical eyes, 
though no one who did not know the Anzacs would 
have guessed it. They did not obtrude their interest ; 


THE ADVENT OF GWENNIE 


257 

those who were lolling about dressed were helping the 
bedridden to pass the time, and they went on with 
their various tasks to all appearances oblivious of the 
presence of McGlusky’s visitor, for it is an article of 
faith with the breed never under any circumstances 
to appear interested in anything less than an earth- 
quake. None the less, they watched the fair visitor 
out of half-closed eyes and in casual whispers sized 
her up to one another. 

Stockwhip Wilson murmured sotto voce to his pal 
Stringybark that ‘ she carried her clothes as if she’d 
paid for ’em.’ 

‘ Yep,’ assented Stringybark, * carries her rags like 
a fig-tree carries its fruit,’ which was their way of say- 
ing she was well dressed and well bred, and altogether 
desirable. 

* Notice how she went up the ward ? ' murmured 
Blue Gum Bates to Murrimbidgee. ‘ She didn’t swim 
an’ she didn’t prance, she just walked ; not one in a 
hundred of ’em know how to walk naturally ; some do 
the angel act and try to float, some pick up their feet as 
if they meant to hit the roof, an’ some just drift along 
as if their legs wanted waking up. The drifters think 
they look like duchesses doing the Royal Drawing- 
room act.’ 

* What’s the odds as long as they’re happy ? They 
don’t fool any one but themselves, Blue Gum.' 

' I like a lass who knows how to carry her feet,’ 
grumbled the other. Then, as if solving an enigma : 

‘ It’s the fault of them damn writing fellows ; they 
put in print that a thoroughbred girl walks like a 
thoroughbred filly in trainin’ f’r th’ Oaks. Now if I 
had a girl that tried to walk like a race-horse, I’d rope 

17 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


258 

her to a tree till she could run round it on egg-shells 
without crackin’ ’em. Now there’s that girl o’ yours, 
Murrimbidgee, the one that comes here three times a 
week an’ has a topknot like a golden tulip with the 
sunlight on it, she can walk.’ 

Murrimbidgee was sitting up in bed. His big eyes 
blazed like the eyes of a tiger about to spring, his dark 
face blanched white with passion. 

' My— girl— you ’ 

The hand nearest to Blue Gum shot out and closed 
that warrior’s mouth. The astonished soldier moved 
quickly away, and Stockwhip Wilson said to him : 

' What is the matter with Murrimbidgee ? ’ 

‘ Dunno,’ growled Blue Gum, f but whatever it is, 
you blokes can take it from me it ain’t religion, or if it 
is, he’s fell from grace, an’ next time he falls, I hope he 
won’t fall my way. Them three teeth he knocked out 
cost me thirty bob in Alexandria.’ 

The innocent cause of the various remarks was chat- 
ting merrily to McGlusky. 

‘ I got a letter from my brother at the front,’ she 
was saying ; ‘ he told me he was sending me a souvenir 
of the battle of Pozieres by you, Mr. McGlusky, so I 
hunted the hospitals until I found you — r not for the 
souvenir, but I wanted to talk to some one who had 
been in the awful fighting ; it was horrible, wasn’t 
it ? ’ 

‘ It was, Miss — for the Germans, an’ none so nice 
for us either.’ 

' Do you know, Mr. McGlusky, I can’t imagine my 
brother killing men ; he was such a quiet boy. I don’t 
think he ever hurt any one or anything in his life until 
he went to this war.’ 


THE ADVENT OF GWENNIE 


259 

* Th’ quiet yins mak’ th’ best killers when they’re 
roused, Miss.’ 

* You like fighting, don’t you ? ’ 

* Me ? ’ McGlusky’s face was full of unaffected 
amazement. ‘ Na, na, ye’re wrong ; it’s awesome 
work pushin’ a baggonet inta a feller mon, but gin ye 
ha’ tae dae it, it’s best tae push it richt through. Is it 
no’ written, " whatseoever y’r han’ findeth ta dae, dae it 
wi’ a’ y’r micht ” ? But A’m no’ a fechter by nature ; A 
only fecht when A theenk it richt to fecht. A love 
beautiful things ; A’d rather grow cauliflowers wi' 
hearts like milk an’ shieldin’ leaves like livin' emeralds 
than mak’ widders o’ wummin, but it’s no’ what a mon 
likes that he has tae dae ; duty’s th’ beginnin' an' end 
o’ life for any mon who is a mon’s son.’ 

‘ Surely some of those Germans must be good men, 
Mr. McGlusky ? ' 

‘ Maist o’ them air — when they’re dead. A never 
bear malice masel’, Miss ; A always forgive a mon as 
soon as he's burned.’ 

A little later some remark of the girl’s brought up a 
story concerning Ginger, and when once the Veteran 
got started on that theme he waxed wondrous eloquent ; 
his love transfigured him ; his fierce eyes that had 
blazed in many a battle grew tender ; his face soft- 
ened ; now and again he laughed as he told of Ginger’s 
droll devilment ; and the girl, not comprehending the 
love of man for man, when such love has been suckled 
on hardship, privation and danger, wondered at the 
change in him. 

' Is — is Ginger good-looking ? ’ she asked. 

' Some of him is, lassie ; his eyes wad draw a 
weanin’ calf fra a fu’ miik-pail. A never saw sic eyes 


26 o 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


in th’ face o’ man or maid ; they’re like flowers wi’ 
dew on th’ petals, an’ th’ lashes brush his cheeks, an’ 
his teeth, they’d shame an ice-cream cart, white an’ 
even an’ strong. Did ye ever crack a cocoanut an’ see 
th’ fruit inside ? White it is, but no’ so white as th’ 
teeth o’ ma wee laddie. An’ his mouth, it’s a gran’ 
mouth f’r a mon ; when ye’ve done explorin’ it ye’re up 
against his ears, or no’ so far away ; it’s th’ sort o’ 
mouth that makes boardin’ housekeepers raise their 
prices as soon as they see him ; but his lips air fu’ o’ 
quirks as if hidin’ laughter a’ th’ time ; they ha’ a 
tweest at th’ corners that mak’s ye want ta grin yersel’ 
ta keep him company.’ 

' Is he dark or fair ? ’ 

‘ Weel, gin ye get past th’ freckles, A’m theenkin’ 
he’d be fair, but by ma soul, lassie, yin freckle’s as close 
ta its neebour as holes in muslin.’ 

* Has he red hair ? ’ 

' He has, lassie ; it’s sae red ye cud see ta shoot by it 
on a moonless nicht, but gin ye ever meet him ca’ it 
golden, an’ he’ll steal a church ta please ye.’ 

* Is he tall or short ? ’ 

‘ Y’r tall yersel’ mair than ordinair, an’ eef Ginger 
was standin’ beside ye wi’ his arm roon yer waist — an’ 
’twould be if he was there three minutes — ye’d pass f’r 
twins.’ 

A nurse came on the scene and intimated that it was 
marching time for visitors. 

* I hope you’ll let me come again, Mr. McGlusky,’ 
said the lassie as she gathered up her belongings. 

' A’ll be mair than proud if ye wull, Miss.’ 

' Oh, don’t call me “ Miss.” All my real friends call 
me Gwennie.’ 


THE ADVENT OF GWENNIE 


261 


McGlusky turned the name over in his mouth, as if 
it were a sweet morsel. 

‘ Gwennie,’ he muttered. ‘ Losh, lassie, it fits ye 
like a kilt fits a hielan’ mon ; it's neither toolang nor 
too short — it's th’ name A’m meaning*, lassie, no* th’ 
kilt.* And for the life of him McGlusky could not 
understand why the girl’s cheeks flamed like a peony, 
or why she struggled to hide her laughter as she took 
her departure. 

That was how the veteran came to know Gwennie, 
but as he grew convalescent he saw a lot of her, for she 
visited him often, bringing him flowers, and in return 
he bombarded her with home-made poetry, and the 
word went round Harefield that this time the Old 
Timer had struck the matrimonial trail in dead earnest 
and meant to keep it. 

‘ He’s doomed,’ growled Stringybark to a coterie of 
comrades ; ‘ he hasn’t got Ginger here to head him off 
th’ danger ; he’ll be roped an’ branded before he’s out 
of Harefield a month.’ 

‘ Lucky old sinner, I call him,’ put in Saddleflap 
Smith, who had been so designated because of the 
abnormal size of his hands. * Lucky old bounder, is 
my summing up of his complaint. Every time that 
girl comes here she makes me think of strawberries at a 
shilling a bite ; she looks sweet enough to eat, to me.’ 

* Better go in an’ try an’ cut him out, Saddleflap,’ 
suggested a comrade. 

‘ Not much ; I’ve had all the hospital I want. Say, 
boys, Harefield’s gettin’ a dashed sight more dangerous 
than th’ trenches, what with th’ Old Timer up to his 
back hair in love, an’ Murrimbidgee on th’ tin roof 
with religion or something; it ain’t homey any more.’ 


262 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


' Can’t make out myself,’ speculated Stockwhip, 
* what a classy girl like that can see in th’ Old Timer. 
He’s a noble old ruin, an’ as a soldier he can give us all 
points, but still he is ancient, ain’t he, compared to 
her, an’ I shouldn't ha’ thought she was th’ sort ter go 
huntin’ round old curiosity shops pickin’ up antiques.’ 

* Think she might have turned her lovelorn eyes on 
you, eh ? ’ jeered ‘ The Cherubim,’ who had been so 
christened because the chargers in the horse lines 
backed away from their oats when they saw his face. 

' Me ? ’ grunted Stockwhip. ‘ Oh, I ain’t takin’ 
any tickets on th’ love microbe myself — don’t believe 
in it. When I see the girl I want, I’m goin’ ter put th’ 
proposition to her straight ; I’ll say : “ Feel like 

doublin’ up, missie ? ” If she says '' Yes,” why we’ll 
double up ; if she says “ No,” I’ll double off, an’ watch 
out f’r a suitable second edition with more sense.’ 

One of the Anzac nurses who had overheard most of 
the conversation dropped a bomb in amongst the group 
by remarking : 

' You all seem so sure the girl is in love with Mc- 
Glusky. I don’t think she is a bit ; she’s in love with 
his stories ; he’s always talking about Ginger and 
Snowy and others, never about himself, and that’s the 
kind of man a real girl likes to listen to.’ 

‘ Well, sister, you can’t say Mac isn’t in love with 
the lass,’ said a bystander. 

The bright eyes of the nursing sister twinkled as she 
measured the group man by man. 

‘ Oh, you and your loves,’ she jeered ; ‘ put a petti- 
coat on a bed-post, and McGlusky would be saying his 
prayers to it in a week. He’s — he’s a man.’ 

As the sister fluttered off, Woolfaced Willie, one- 


THE ADVENT OF GWENNIE 263 

time champion shearer of New South Wales, looked 
round on the grinning faces, remarking : 

' Boys, I’d like to interpolate a few remarks to the 
effect that Sister Agnes knows a good deal besides 
puttin’ antiseptic bandages on shrapnel wounds, or 
pluggin’ bullet holes with cotton wool.’ 

‘ Sure thing,’ grunted the Cherubim, ‘ Sister Agnes 
has been studyin’ th’ inside o’ male anatomy as well as 
th’ crust. Th’ man who marries her’ll have ter be 
home by nine-thirty every night, or have a broken leg 
to show why he wasn’t.’ 


CHAPTER XIII 
GINGER AS A FORLORN HOPE 
STARCHY officer walking near an Anzac battery 



Jr\ was unburdening his soul, and his language was 
enough to stop grass growing, if there had been any 
grass near to stop. 

* Where’s your observation officer ? How the 
deuce do you expect to do any good with the guns with 
no one on observation duty ? Pluggin’ shells anywhere 
in between here an’ the Rhine ain’t going to break the 
German line.’ 

* We’ve lost three observation officers attached to 

this battery in a fortnight, sir, and ’ 

* Well the guns must have eyes, sir, even if you have 
lost three officers.’ 

* Yes, but we’ve got to be careful of ’em, sir ; good 

men are running short, and ’ 

1 Careful ! What’s the good of an observation 
officer who’s careful of his own skin ? Don’t know 
what’s cornin’ to the service, sir — service going to the 
devil, sir — Careful ! ’ He finished with a snort of dis- 
gust, and began sweeping the country with his glasses. 
‘ Hullo — why — what th’ blazes is that red patch in that 
tree in front, sir, eh ? ’ 

The irate officer looked and noted that every Anzac 
wore a smile as boundless as a mother’s blessing. 


264 


GINGER AS A FORLORN HOPE 265 

‘ That’s th’ red head of Ginger, one of our best 
sharpshooters, sir. There’s another one called Snowy 
somewhere out in front of Ginger, hiding in a shell- 
hole ; they hunt in couples those two, sir.’ 

‘ What are they so far advanced for ? Rank non- 
sense to risk men like that. What are they out for, eh ? ’ 

‘ They’re covering our observation officer at present, 
sir ; he’s in front somewhere, and Ginger and Snowy 
are sniping snipers.’ 

‘ That what you call being careful in this battery, 
eh ? ’ grunted the officer. ‘ Don’t wonder you lost 
three in a fortnight. Does your observation officer 

think he’s got orders to go to the Rhine, I Hullo, 

what’s that ? Your red-headed sharpshooter’s got 
himself potted.’ 

The officer’s words were true. Ginger had come 
tumbling out of the tree like a winged black cock. A 
dozen volunteers sprang forward. 

‘ Halt, men ! ’ 

The sharp command brought the volunteers to a 
standstill. 

‘ Can’t allow you to throw your lives away ; the 
German snipers have their glasses on that tree, and 
they’ll get you good, every man of you.’ 

It was their own C.O. who spoke, and the Anzacs 
stood scowling but obedient — they knew the C.O. 
There was a pause, then the C.O. spoke again : 

‘ Wait a bit, boys ; Snowy’s not far from Ginger, 
and he’ll get to him if he can ; if he don’t, one of you 
can risk it in a minute or two ; we mustn’t lose Ginger.’ 

A voice at his elbow said : 

* Sure, I’ll go, sorr ; I won’t be missed.’ 

‘ No, padre, you stand easy.' 


266 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


' But, sorr * 

' That will do, padre ; an order’s an order. Would 
you set a bad example ? * 

The padre stood back, his eyes flashing angrily. 
Amongst the men a sharp altercation had arisen. 

‘ It’s me f’r this job as soon as the C.O. gives th’ 
word.’ Sunny Jim slipped off his tunic as he spoke. 

‘ You ? Who told you to butt in, Sunny Jim ? * 
growled Kurnalpi. * You’re too fresh ; it’s me f’r 
Ginger ; an’ I’ll put one acrost th’ jaw of any man who 
tries to jump my claim, see ? ’ 

‘ Not much you won’t, Kurnalpi. I’ll gesticulate 
in th’ direction of your jaw if you move a peg. I’ve 
been dry nurse to Ginger ever since th’ Old Timer went 
to Blighty, leastways when Snowy wasn’t around ter 
handle th’ spoon, an’ me an’ this job was made f 'r each 
other, see ? ’ 

It was the mellifluous voice of Prospector Brown that 
jarred its way into Kurnalpi’s ears and understanding, 
and that gentleman having on a recent occasion sam- 
pled some of the diet outlined in the prospector’s 
oratory, muttered fierce oaths and family reminiscences 
concerning the whole Brown family for many genera- 
tions. 

‘ There’s a chap — crawling along the ground — he’s 
dragging your red-headed sharpshooter towards a — 
shell-hole.’ 

It was the voice of the staff officer. Then he added : 

‘ Dunno where the devil the second chap came from 
— must have grown there — like a mushroom — I was 
watching, and 1 didn’t see him advance from any- 
where.’ 

‘ That’s Snowy for a million,’ cried the C.O. 


GINGER AS A FORLORN HOPE 267 

' That so ? Jolly careful sort of chap he must be, 
that Snowy.’ 

* Yes, he is ; he’s built like that ; knew he’d save 
Ginger if any one could.’ 

The men grinned as they heard their C.O. speak in 
reply to the staff officer, for like him they knew how 
' careful ’ Snowy could be on occasion. 

After a little lapse of time, Snowy wormed his way 
back to the lines in his own inimitable fashion, creeping 
from shell-crater to shell-hole, and reported : 

* Ginger’s got a bit to go on with ; one of the Huns 
picked him out of his tree like a winkle cut cf a 
shell.’ 

‘ Serious, eh, Snowy ? ’ queried the C.O. 

‘Don’t think so, sir; just a joy-ride to Blighty. 
Bullet tumbled him off his perch ; saw him fall ; his 
red head looked like a young comet coming to earth. 
When I reached him, I thought he’d got his little lot ; 
the fall had stunned him ; he’s under cover now, and 
I’ve given him first aid. Better let a couple of stretcher- 
bearers go out for him after dark.’ 

‘ Will he be all right till then ? ’ 

‘ Yes, I’m going back to look after him now.” 
Snowy chuckled, ‘ he thinks I’m scouting round to 
get his bally rifle ; he cursed awful when he woke up 
and found I hadn’t brought it in/’ 

‘ Nice little beast.’ 

‘ A bit promiscuous in his language, sir, but one o* 
th’ best.’ 

‘ I think I come in here, don’t I ? Wounded men 
belong to me.’ 

It was the padre's smooth voice chipping in. The 
C.O. grew rusty. 


268 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


'Oh, if you must chuck your life away, padre, do 
so by all means.’ 

' Better stay here, if you want wounded men, padre,’ 
drawled Snowy, ‘ the Bosches are going to try some- 
thing big in this direction pretty soon if I know the 
signs. I’m taking a gas mask out for Ginger and one 
for myself. So long, padre ; better loose a prayer 
or two for Ginger, f ’r if th’ gas hangs low he’ll need ’em.' 

He spoke of loosing prayers as if speaking of loosing 
pigeons, but the padre knew he meant no irreverence. 

Fortunately the wind lifted the gas that came a 
bit later, and when the stretcher bearers crept out 
in the dark they found Snowy lying by the side of 
Ginger, pulling contentedly at a stumpy old briar 
that he called his ' microbe killer ’ — the wonder was 
that it did not kill him, it was strong enough. 

So it came to pass that one day when McGlusky 
was lounging in the main corridor of Harefield 
Hospital, he saw Ginger carried in on a stretcher. 

* Wha’s wrang wi’ ye, wee buckie ? Dinna say 
ye’re sair hurtit.’ 

The humorous curves at the comers of the big 
boyish mouth deepened, and the wonderful eyes 
sparkled. 

' Whisht, sorr, don’t be afther spakin’ above y’r 
breath, or they’ll be sendin’ me back. Oi’m not 
hurtit at all, Oi just tuk a thrip over t’ see yerself, 
sorr.’ 

‘ Ye wee leear. Where ha’ ye got it ? ' 

* Och, ut’s nothin', just a bullet, sorr.’ 

A nursing sister drove McGlusky away, and a doctor 
came and examined the lad. When the examination 
was over he said to the attendant nurse : 


GINGER AS A FORLORN HOPE 269 

‘ Go and tell that big ruffian McGlusky it’s nothing 
serious ; you 11 find him prowling in the corridor ; 
he’ll fret himself into a fever if you don’t hurry.’ 

Ginger, who knew every trick worth knowing* 
and a lot that were not, in regard to wheedling, thinned 
his voice down as thin as a knife blade, like one on the 
point of collapse, and addressed himself to the medico. 

‘ Sorr ’ 

‘ Well ?’ 

‘ May Oi have a fag, sorr ? Me stummick’s cravin' 
awful ; Oi’m feared Oi’ll be spiffin’ blood, sorr.’ 

' You may, Ginger — in three weeks’ time.’ 

' May Oi see a — a padre, sorr ? ’ 

' What for ? ’ 

‘ Oi’d loike ter confess before Oi go west, sorr.’ 

The medico, who had heard a thousand stories 
from wounded men concerning Ginger and his tricks, 
looked down into the young face that had suddenly 
been drawn into the lines of the dying. 

' Feel as bad as you look. Ginger ? ’ 

The glorious eyes took an upward turn as if peering 
through the roof. 

' Oi,’ he whispered, ' Oi can see hivin openin’, sorr.’ 

It’ll be a long time before it opens for you, you 
rascal. 

* Och, dochter, ut’s th’ cravin’ in me stummick. 
Oi’m feared Oi’m hurtit internally — that gun carriage 
did ut.’ 

‘ Tell me about that.’ 

* Aft her Oi was shot an’ lay on th’ ground, dochter/ 

‘ Yes ? ’ 

* A German gun carriage ran over me ; wan wheel 
went over me belly an’ wan over me fut, an- — ’ 


2J0 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


' Must have been a mighty narrow gun carriage, 
Ginger. Sure it wasn’t a perambulator ? ’ 

' Yez wouldn’t be laughin’ yerself, docther, if yez 
had been thrampled on by three battery mules an’ 
tuk in th’ middle wid a gun wheel.’ 

' Is it a pain or an ache, Ginger ? ’ 

* Ut’s a bit av both, sorr, wid a weary cravin’ in 
betune.’ 

' That describes your complaint beautifully, you 
young liar. What you want is a black draught, and 
if I hear any more talk of " fags ” for three weeks, 
you’ll get a double dose every morning for break- 
fast.’ 

As the medico moved away he said to the matron : 

* Don’t let that red-headed image impose on you ; 
he’s as artful as a bag full of monkeys. He's got a 
nice clean wound, and a constitution like a steer, but 
he’ll look like dying any time he wants to. The padre 
in his corps is my cousin, and I know Master Ginger 
like a book.’ 

" The scamp ; he’s too young for the army, and 
has picked up all the vices, eh ? ’ 

' Not a bit of it ; he’s as good as gold, only he’s 
been understudying a battery mule for tricks.’ 

A day or two later a clergyman passing through 
the ward caught Ginger’s eyes fixed appealingly upon 
him. 

‘ What a heavenly expression that young soldier 
has,’ he whispered to a nurse, and then glared because 
the soldiers near by had chuckled too audibly. 

' He’s a nice boy,’ answered the sister, who had 
already been won by the imp’s strange magnetism. 

The good man went to the lad. 


GINGER AS A FORLORN HOPE 


271 

‘ Are you Ginger, the wonderful soldier singer ? * 
he asked. 

Ginger gulped down a lump in his throat. 

‘ Oi — Oi cud sing wanst, but me singin' days are over.’ 

‘ As bad as that, sonny ? ' 

* Trough th’ lung, yer riverence, an’ ut’s set up 
triapochoneus combustion av th’ main clavicular 
cavity, "which is th’ hole a singer keeps his musical 
box in — whin he’s well.’ 

* Never heard of it,’ gasped the good man, f and 
I’m a bit of a singer myself ; but this awful war teaches 
us a lot of things, my boy, doesn’t it ? ’ 

‘ Ut do, sorr.’ 

Then putting on what Snowy called his * Kiss-a- 
dyin’-boy-for-his-mother ’ expression, he murmured : 

* Yez said yez was a singer yerself, sorr.’ 

* In a small way, only in a small way, my lad.’ 

* Will yez lane over me so’s th’ others can’t hear, 
an’ — an’ croon me fav’rite hymn f’r me, sorr ? ’ 

* With pleasure, dear lad, with pleasure. Ah, how 
the dear old hymns come back to all of us in time of 
trouble ! What is your favourite hymn, dear boy ? 
Believe me, it gives me joy to know your thoughts 
are fixed on noble themes.’ 

‘ Will yez croon a verse av “ Onward Christian 
soldiers,” sorr ? ’ 

‘ Ah, most appropriate ; you have a fine sense of 
what is fit, for one so young, living in the midst of 
temptation.’ 

The good man beamed on the young rip, and his 
face fairly exuded benevolence. As for Ginger, he 
lay back with an expression on his freckled face that 
made Saddleflap whisper to Stringybark : 


272 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


* Look at the young devil ; he’s got that sky-pilot 
by the leg good and hard. Wonder what his little 
game is ? ’ 

‘ Dunno,’ replied Stringy, ‘ but he’s up to no good 
when he works up that “ heark-the-herald-angels- 
sing ” expression. He’s goin’ ter fool that sky-pilot 
f’r something, you can bet your Sunday trousers 
on that.’ 

‘ Onward Christian soldiers, 

Marching as to war/ 

crooned the good man, and as he sang he leant right 
over Ginger, as Murrimbidgee remarked like a hen 
brooding over one chick, and in that moment by some 
occult means the good man’s cigarette case passed 
from his pocket under Ginger’s bedclothes. 

When the good man was leaving the ward, he 
remarked to a grim-faced Anzac : 

‘ That young comrade of yours is one of the sweetest 
souls I have ever met ; I — I hope you treasure him.’ 

' We do,’ was the curt response, ‘ but when we’re 
dealing with Ginger, we watch as well as pray,’ and 
the cleric moved away and pondered over that saying, 
wondering what its hidden meaning might be. 

Ginger caught the eye of a nurse, and beckoned to 
her. 

‘ Well,’ she said severely, ' want me to sing hymns 
to you, eh ? ’ 

‘ No, sister, Oi don’t want ter be disturbed in me 
meditations, but ’ 

* But what ? ’ 

* Oh, th’ gintleman that was waftin’ me thoughts 
to the pearly gates dropped his silver cigarette case 
on me bed ; ye’d betther give ut to him.’ 


GINGER AS A FORLORN HOPE 273 

The nurse took it and went swiftly after the good 
man, and as he opened the case and found it empty, 
some glimmering of the soldier’s word ‘ We watch as 
well as pray when dealing with Ginger,’ came to 
him. 

* Goin’ ter share th’ loot ? ’ demanded Saddleflap 
as he stood by the imp’s bed. 

' Share nothin’. Didn’t Oi have ter stand his 
singin’ ? He’s got a voice like a kerosene tin wid 
stones in ut — th’ sufferer’s worthy av his loot.’ 

Then he loosened a bandage and packed away his 
fags, and when the nurse came and searched him she 
found nothing. 

‘ What d’y’r’ take me for, sister ? ’ he queried 
plaintively, turning the battery of his beautiful eyes 
upon her. 

1 Oh, don’t try to work your eye-wash on me ! I’ve 
had your sort before, you wicked young animal.’ 

‘ Ut’s me fate ter be misunderstood by th’ beauti- 
ful,’ mused the unregenerate cub. 

‘ Oh, I understand you right enough, and you can 
take it from me if you have the parson’s fags, you 
shan’t smoke them.’ 

A grin swept across the freckled face, and he 
chortled : 

‘ Life’s very hard f’r th’ young, but what a soldier 
can’t smoke he must chew, ’nd chewin’s th’ next best 
thing ter smokin’ ! ’ 

The following day Stringy told him about McGlusky 
and Gwennie, the truth being that Stringy had wagered 
a week’s pay that Ginger would upset the Ole Timer’s 
dream of love before it ripened into matrimony. 

Oi knew he’d be failin’ inter wan av thim she 

18 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


274 

thraps if Oi wasn’t round ter take care av him, he’s 
a child in thim things, Stringy.’ 

‘ She’s got a half-nelson hold on him, kid.’ 

Ginger grunted. Then : ' Go on, bring him to me. 
An’ Stringy ’ 

‘ Yes.’ 

‘ Moind you tell him Oi'm mighty bad, an’ — an’ 
Oi mustn’t be crossed, or Oi’ll be up wid th’ skylarks 
in a month.’ 

4 That cock won’t fight, kid, he’d be askin’ th’ 
doc’ an’ th’ nurses.’ 

‘ Och, yer a fool ; tell him they're kapin' th’ evil 
toidin’s from him till he’s well, because — because we’re 
mates.’ 

Stringy, who was a splendid fighter but a poor 
strategist, looked admiringly at the youth. 

' You f’r my dough every time, kid. I’ll double 
my bet.’ 

' Go on, bring th’ Auld Timer, ye’re wastin’ time. 
Oi — Oi might fade away any minnit.’ 

Stringy found McGlusky dressed in his hospital 
best ; he was clean-shaven and had a flower in his 
coat ; his eyes were on the door by which visitors enter. 
Without preamble the envoy broke into his theme. 

‘ Been with th’ kid, Ole Timer.’ 

‘ That’s gude o’ ye, ma man, he’s daein’ fine, they’re 
tellin’ ma.’ 

Stringy shot a keen glance at the hard face, then 
looked down and pawed the boards with one shoe. 
McGlusky rose to the clumsy bait. 

' Wha’s wrang ? ’ 

‘ Oh, nothing, Mac,’ and Stringy began to whistle 
dolefully. 


GINGER AS A FORLORN HOPE 


275 


‘ Air ye keepin’ onything fra me, Stringy ? * 

‘ Me ? No, why should I ? * 

* If ye air, ma’ th’ Lord help ye.’ 

‘ I'm not — but th’ doctors an’ nurses are. You 
go to Ginger, he — he sent me for you. An', Mac, 
don't you cross th’ kid, he's — he mightn't be long f'r 
this world.’ 

Before he had finished McGlusky was gone. The 
big man found his protege lying with a wan smile 
on his face. 

‘ Ut’s good av yez ter come, sorr, an' you waitin' 
an’ longin’ f’r her.’ 

‘ Whist, wee laddie, tell me what ails ye ? ' 

‘ Ut's nothin’, sorr.’ 

The tears were welling in Ginger’s eyes, they soaked 
through his voice and his fingers picked aimlessly 
at the bed quilt, a sign all soldiers dread because it 
is a superstition with them that quilt-picking heralds 
the end, which it very often does. 

‘ Tell ma, mannie, they said it was only a bullet.’ 

‘ Ut was th’ fall from th’ tree that did ut, sorr ; 
ut’s set up an enormity av th’ prehistoric apparatus 
av th’ pumpin’ works av th’ heart.’ 

‘ Air they gi’en ye onything f’r it, laddie ? ’ 

Ginger’s lip grew tremulous and he shook his head. 
The veteran took one young hand between his two 
big paws and silence stayed with them for a time. 
Then in a long-drawn whisper came the query : 

* Sorr, ye’ll not be forgettin’ me when — y’r married ? ' 

* Ginger ! ’ 

Only one word, but it nearly checked the reprobate 
in his villainy. 

‘ Do you love her awful much, sorr ? ’ 


276 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


' Dom her.’ 

' What’s she like, sorr ? ’ 

McGlusky did his best under painful circumstances, 
making much of the maid’s height and slimness. 

* Sounds like a hop pole ter me, sorr. Oi alwis 
wanted yez ter marry a foine armful av a woman, 
somethin’ worthy av yerself, sorr, thin yer childer 
wud be a race av giants, rale Anzacs, sorr. Ye said 
Australia an’ New Zealand was th’ place f’r grand 
women.’ 

‘ So it is, mannie.’ 

‘ Why don’t yez wait till yez get there an’ pick 
wan av thim, sorr ? ’ 

' So A wull, buckie. Dinna fash noo, ye get well 
an we’ll gang ower th’ watter thegither.’ 

' Ye mane ut, sorr ? ’ 

‘ A do.’ 

Ginger heaved a great sigh. 

‘ Oi can die happy now, sorr.’ 

‘ Ye’ll no’ dee, A’ll pull ye back fra th’ jaws o’ 
death wi’ th’ micht o’ ma love. Try an' sleep a wee 
noo, A’ll gang an’ burn a’ that dom poetry, an’ A’ll 
sit outside an’ smoke an’ be wi’in easy call. A’m 
goin’ ta pull ye room’ 

He went away on tip-toe, and Murrimbidgee, who 
had been watching, took his place. 

* Feel proud of yourself, kid ? ’ 

‘ You go to , Murrimbidgee.’ 

* Hope I won’t meet many o’ your sort there when I 
do.’ 

‘ Who are you preachin’ at anyway ? ’ 

‘ You, you gutter-snipe ; every card you gave him 
you took from th’ bottom 0’ th’ pack.’ 


GINGER AS A FORLORN HOPE 


2 77 


Ginger swore fiercely. 

* Oi did, an’ Oi’d do ut again. He’s moine, ain’t 
he ? What right's any girl come stalin’ him from me ? 
He’s — he’s all I got.’ 

‘ Sure the girl wants him, kid ? ’ 

‘ Sure,’ scoffed Ginger, * of course Oi’m sure. Any 
girl or woman ayther ’d want him. Ain’t he th' 
best that lives, ain’t he been father an’ mother an’ 
brother an’ sister, an — an — God A’mighty ter me ? 
Oi’d lie me soul ter th’ pit ter kape him. What's 
he want wid a woman anyhow ? None of ’em’s good 
enough f’r him.’ Then with a flash of inspiration : 

* Say, Murrimbidgee, you’re as handsome as the divil 
— be a pal.’ 

‘ How kid ? ’ 

‘ Go in an’ cut him out wid th’ girl. He’ll — he’ll 
only bash yer an' thin fergit.’ 

* He might fergit, but any one he bashed don’t, 
kid. Look here, I don’t think th’ girl cares two 
cents f’r him in that way, she’s not his class.' 

That brought Ginger’s blood to a fury. 

‘ What’s that ? Not his class ? Och, there isn’t 
a duchess good enough ter mend his socks — whin 
he has any.’ 

Into this atmosphere surcharged with emotion 
came Gwennie, her eyes alight with laughter, her 
cheeks dimpling, her slender figure swaying gracefully 
as she walked. A nicer picture of wholesome, un- 
affected girlhood it would have been hard to find in 
England or out of it, just a natural, unaffected slip 
of feminine niceness. Ginger was the first to see 
her. 

' Hullo, who’s this wan, Murrimbidgee ? ’ Then, 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


278 

after a keen glance at the girl : ' Praise be, but she 
ain’t a thract distributor.’ 

Gwennie threw a smile and a nod to Murrimbidgee ; 
though she being a woman guessed he was neck deep 
in love with the Devon girl ; few women could look 
at his handsome, impassive face with the hint of 
tragedy underlying its calm, without wanting to 
look again. 

' Somewan yez know ? ’ questioned Ginger. 

‘ Just a visitor,’ was the laconic response. The 
gambler had no intention of enlightening the imp in 
regard to Gwennie and McGlusky. 

Suddenly Ginger saw the dark face of his comrade 
flush, saw a glitter come into his eyes and noticed how 
the muscular, shapely figure stiffened. He followed 
Murrimbidgee’s gaze, and saw the Devon girl coming 
down the ward, her arms laden with flowers, and in 
that instant the imp, with almost a woman’s intui- 
tion, read the gambler’s secret. 

‘ Faith,’ he murmured, * this is the wan f ’r my money. 
I loike thim red-headed wans meself. Go an’ ask 
her f’r a bunch av thim flowers f’r a young soldier 
goin’ west before his time.’ His eyes were twinkling, 
his mischievous lips twitching. 

‘ Red headed, you fool ! Did you never see gold ? ’ 

‘ Not much av ut — an’ Oi don’t want to if ut’s like 
that stuff under her hat.’ 

‘ Sew yer mouth up. Y’r not fit to dust her boots.’ 

' Well, Oi’m not askin’ f’r th’ job, am Oi ? ’ 

The Devon girl made an almost imperceptible 
motion, and the gambler went to her instantly. 

' Well, Oi’m ’ chuckled Ginger ; ‘ he’s the cleverest 

av our bunch, an’ that girl can tie him in more knots 


GINGER AS A FORLORN HOPE 


279 


than she can tie her shoe string. No use ter try an 
get him to help me wean McGlusky away from the 
other gurl they call Gwennie. Wan fool in love alwis 
sticks up f’r another fool wid the same complaint. 
Th’ love microbe seems ter be a dangerous kind av 
a baste ; Oi’d loike ter see wan, Oi’d put a pin 
through ut an’ fix ut toa card. Murrimbidgee’s got 
wan in his bonnet as big as a butterfly.’ 

The Devon girl looked across at Ginger ; instantly 
his face fell into lines suggestive of an advertisement in 
the agony column of a daily paper. Without a word 
to the gambler, the girl stepped quickly to Ginger’s 
bedside and placed a beautiful bunch of roses by hisside.- 

‘ May angels kiss yer hands f’r that, miss.’ Then 
his better nature coming to the surface, he said in his 
honey sweet voice, ‘ Give th’ flowers ter Murrimbidgee, 
miss, he’ll — he’ll prize ’em, an’ God knows he needs 
a bit o’ kindness.’ 

The Devon lass turned away with a colour in her 
cheeks that made the roses look mean. 

' There’s a lot of goodness in that laddie,’ she said 
to Murrimbidgee. 

' There may be,’ he retorted, ‘ but it’d take a squad 
of sappers and a ton o’ dynamite to find it.’ 
Murrimbidgee and the Devon lass looking round them 
saw Gwennie passing from one wounded man to 
another, until she came to Ginger. She did not ask 
the questions so many women asked the wounded, 
she just chatted and laughed, and made the time 
pass very pleasantly, and Ginger met her half way, 
and his stories, told as only he could tell them, made 
her laugh until a passing nurse shook a reproving 
finger at the pair. 


28 o 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


In the next bed lay a Scot Australian named Dermot, 
who was noted for his surly, savage, uncouth temper, 
a man who bore pain badly. To him came a fat 
blonde woman who had placed a tract on every pillow 
in the ward. She was not a real visitor of the sick for 
the sake of the work as so many are, but a limelight 
seeker out for a little cheap kudos. Tracts were the 
only things she ever brought, except an inexhaustible 
capacity for asking questions. The irreverent Anzacs 
had christened her ‘ The pump in petticoats.’ Seating 
herself by Dermot, she opened fire : ‘ Was he 

married ? ’ ‘ Had he any children ? ’ ' Wasn’t it a 

dreadful war ? ’ f When would it be over ? " Wasn’t 
he proud to fight for the glorious Empire ? ’ * Would 
he be glad to go back to the trenches ? ’ ‘ How did 

it feel to be hit ? ' f What was his name ? ’ 

The surly one had been glowering at her, for it was 
one of his bad days, and his wound was wrenching 
him. 

4 Oot-an’-awa’-ye-hen,’ he snarled. 

* Good gracious ! ’ muttered the pump, rising 
hurriedly, ' what a funny name, I — I didn’t know you 
were a foreigner.’ 

She came to Ginger and unheeding Gwennie, butted 
in sans ceremonie. Ginger raised his one free hand 
and pointed a finger at his mouth then at his ears, 
then began to talk (?) the deaf and dumb language 
to her as well as he was able with one hand. 

f Poor boy. Is it the result of his wound ? ’ 

‘ I—- 1 think so,’ murmured Gwennie, her dimples 
deepening. 

* Well, dear, I'll leave a tract ; perhaps he can read 
if he is deaf and dumb.' 


GINGER AS A FORLORN HOPE 281 


She selected the most cheerful for a sick soldier : 
* Sinner, Prepare for Judgment.’ Ginger looked up 
delightedly, then grasped her whole bundle and refused 
to return them. When the ‘ pump ’ moved off 
Gwennie asked : 

4 Why did you take all she had ? Will you read them ? ’ 

‘ Divil a wan, miss, but they'll interest McG. — 
he’s grand at theology.’ 

‘ You mean the famous Mr. McGlusky ? ’ 

‘ That same, miss.' 

' Oh,’ with the light of revelation dawning on her 
face, ‘ then you must be Ginger.’ 

The boy’s brows came together in an ugly way. 

‘ Oi am, an’ yez seem ter know th’ family.' 

The girl laughed pleasantly. 

‘ Well, I couldn’t know Mr. McGlusky and not 
know you ; he talks of nothing else but you and Snowy. 
When did you come into hospital ? ’ 

‘ Not a minnit too soon, Oi’m thinkin’,’ growled 
Ginger sourly. Then, riveting his eyes on her face, 
‘ Have yez seen th’ Auld Timer ter-day ? ’ 

‘ No.’ 

‘ Th’ mail goes out ter-morrow ; I expect he's 
writin’ ter his wife an’ — an’ th’ dear little kids.’ 

‘ He never told me he was married.' 

‘ No,’ said Ginger carelessly, ‘ he don't like ter 
talk av ut.’ 

‘ Why not ? ’ 

‘ You’ll not be mentionin’ it to a. soul ? ’ 

‘ Of course not.' 

* His wife’s black.’ 

‘Oh!’ 

‘ Yes, he was prospectin’ f’r gold in th’ Australian 


282 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


bush, an’ th’ wild blacks speared him an’ wan av th’ 
black gins saved his life an’ — an’ he married her ter 
make a dacent woman av her.’ 

Once launched on the sea of romance, Ginger let'* 
himself go. He drew a vivid picture of McGlusky 
and a slim black gin, guiltless of. wedding trousseau, 
being joined in holy wedlock by a mission priest. 

‘ Him in a blue shirt an’ ridin’ breeches an’ boots an’ 
spurs, th’ bride in nature’s wardrobe only except 
f’r a wreath of wattleflowers on her head in lieu of 
orange blossoms. Then th’ shame av th’ unnatural 
alliance when all th’ diggers an’ stockmen ostracized 
him, ut nearly killed him, miss, when he realized he’d 
cut himself off from th’ white race, ut brought on 
periscopeal inflammation av th’ muscular intricacies 
av — av th’ brain, an’ th’ least mention av his black 
wife makes him fit f’r the bug-house, that’s why he 
came to th’ war.’ 

Gwennie was probing Ginger with her eyes ; she 
had heard much of him from others besides McGlusky. 

‘ You are not married, are you. Ginger ? ’ 

* N-o, miss, an’ Oi never wished ter be till — till 
an hour ago.’ 

He lifted his long lashes and let his eyes rest on the 
laughing face, and clever and debonair as she 
was, Gwennie felt the magic spell of the wonderful 
Celtic eyes for an instant, even though she had taken 
Ginger’s measure to a nicety. 

‘ Shall I come again and see you, Ginger ? ’ 

‘ Oi’ll be countin’ th’ hours till yez do, miss.’ 

‘ Very well, I’ll bring you some flowers on Wednes- 
day.’ 

‘ Flowers,’ said Ginger in a far-away voice, ‘ flowers 


GINGER AS A FORLORN HOPE 283 

alwis make me think av funerals. A couple av packets 
av woodbines alwais kape th’ memory green an*' 
tender.’ 

‘ I expect some nice girl gave you those beautiful 
flowers on the bed, all the same.’ 

‘ Oh, thim,’ said Ginger without a tremor, - me 
ould aunt who kapes a whelk stall on Westminster 
Bridge sent thim to me ter give to a sodjer who used 
ter lodge wid her ; he skipped widout payin’ his board,, 
an’ th’ flowers are ter remind him that though he’s, 
gone he ain’t forgotten.’ 

* Your aunt talks in the language of flowers, then ? * 

* She do that, miss, you should hear her when sho 
talks av th’ money that sojer owes her.’ 

On her way out of Harefield Gwennie met McGlusky, 
and her reception of the veteran did not augur well 
for her faith in Ginger’s black gin narrative. Never 
had she been so sweet to McGlusky as she was in that 
hour, but for a lover who had been guilty of writing 
many passionate poems, the veteran was strangely 
oblivious of the pearls thrown at his feet : his mind 
was fixed upon Ginger. 

‘ Ye ha’ been wi’ ma wee mannie. A saw ye through 
th’ window.’ 

‘ Yes.’ 

‘ Hoo did he seem ter yersel’ ? Ye may no’ ha’ th’ 
weesdom o’ Solomon, but y’re no* all a fule. Miss 
Gwennie, dae ye think he’ll — he’ll be hittin’ heaven 
this trip, or — f’r th’ love o’ God tell ma, dae ye theenk 
he’ll get well, lassie ? ’ 

Gwennie would have laughed had it not been for 
the deep under-note of anxiety that throbbed in the- 
big man’s voice. 


284 GINGER AND McGLUSKY 

* You’ll get to heaven before Ginger will, Mr. Mc- 
Glusky.’ 

‘ Ye’re no’ fulin’ ma ? ’ 

‘ Why should I ? ’ 

‘ Ye theenk he wull no’ die ? ’ 

' Not this time. Why, he said his wound was 
nothing.’ 

‘ Th’ spunky wee buckie.’ 

' I don’t think he’s very bad, I don’t really.’ 

McGlusky drew very close to Gwennie and whispered 
hoarsely, 

‘ Did he tell ye aboot his innards ? ’ 

Gwennie choked back her merriment. 

‘ N-o.’ 

‘ Ye’re sure ? ’ 

‘ Quite,’ said Gwennie with deep conviction, and 
' I — I don’t think there’s anything wrong with him 
— er — inside.’ 

* No’ with his heart, lassie ? ’ 

* His heart ? I don’t think he’s got one.’ 

* Lassie, ye’re daft. Ginger’s got a heart as big 
as y’r ain twa boots, an’ ye’ve a gran’ grup on th’ 
roadway f’r a lassie.’ 

Gwennie drew her shapely feet well in behind the 
hem of her short walking-skirt. 

‘ Oh, Mr. McGlusky, I didn’t think my feet were 
so noticeable as all that.’ 

‘ Dinna fash aboot y’r feet, lassie, th’ Almichty 
kens hoo ta mak’ a wumman ; y’r ower tall, ye ken, 
an’ eef ye didna’ ha’ something fine an’ flat ta stan’ 
on, ye’d blaw ower in a breeze ; wee feet air aricht 
f’r a wumman who is short i’ th’ shanks. A’ll be 
wishin’ ye good-day th’ noo ; th’ wee mannie’ll maybe 


GINGER AS A FORLORN HOPE 285 

be missin’ me ; A’d no’ ha’ him feel neglectit f’r th* 
world/ 

On his way in Mac met Murrimbidgee, who had just 
taken leave of the Devon lass. 

‘ Ye seem michty upliftit o’ late, buckie/ 

' I’m all right, Mac/ 

The veteran put a big hand kindly on the young 
man’s shoulders. 

' Ha’ ye foond y’r soul, ma son ? ’ 

Murrimbidgee looked him straight in the eyes, and 
the old mocking sneer did not curve his lips. 

‘ I— think so, Old Timer.’ 

' Was it th’ livin’ word that did it, son ? ’ 

' I think it was a living woman, old sportsman.’ 

' Weel, weel, dinna cavil at th’ way o’ ’t ; a good 
wumman ha’ been th’ Almichty's messenger t’ man 
mair times than there air leaves in th’ forest.’ He 
held out his right hand. ' A’m weeshin’ ye weel fra 
th’ bottom o’ ma hairt, laddie. Gird up y’r loins 
an’ fecht a gude fecht, an' eef ye only fecht th’ auld 
de’il half as weel as ye fecht Turks an’ Huns, ye’ll 
shup him back to hell wi' his tail between his teeth. 
Dinna let go y’r grup on y’r soul, son, an’ eef y’r in 
deefficulties any time an’ a wee bit prayer can help 
ye, come ta me, son ; ye ken A’ve wallowed in maist 
kinds o’ mud masel’, an’ it’s hard if A canna dig up 
a bit prayer from th’ depths o’ ma own expeerience 
that wull fit y’r need. It’s th’ yins who ha’ never 
side-stepped an’ slipped themselves that canna help 
a fellow-sinner ; they’re too dom sweet ta be whole- 
some, A’m theenkin’.’ 

Murrimbidgee gripped the rough hand, and his 
voice shook a little as he replied : 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


286 

* All right, old cock bird ; I’m out to run straight, 
no more marked cards in th’ game o' life for me.’ 

' A’richt, see me to-morrow, we can ha’ a smoke 
thegither, an’ ha’ a crack ; a loose lip makes a licht 
heart — sometimes. ’ 

‘ Thanks, Mac, but I've got to go to London to- 
morrow.’ 

He half drew a letter from his pocket and Mac 
caught the printed words on the envelope : ' On His 
Majesty’s Service.’ Murrimbidgee wavered a moment, 
then smiled and thrust the letter back into his pocket. 
‘ The girl first,’ he said in a half shamefaced way, 
the red blood sweeping up under his tan. 

‘ A'richt, ma buckie,’ and so the two men parted, 
and both were better for the meeting. 

Mac found Ginger evidently much improved in health. 

‘ What've ye been doin’ wid yerself, sorr, all th’ 
afternoon ? Givin’ y’r beauty an airin’, eh, sorr ? ’ 

' Ye seem better, Ginger.’ 

' Oi'm feelin’ foine, sorr, ut’s only whin th' pain 
comes inter me abdominal capacity that Oi crack up.’ 

‘ Does it get doon there too, laddie ? A thocht 
ye said it was yer hairt that was hurtit.’ 

‘ So it is, sorr, but Oi ache all over in sympathy wid 
th' pain in me heart. Oi think meself, sorr, Oi might 
get betther av ut if nothin’ happens ter upset me 
mental equilibrium.’ 

' Losh laddie, ye’re gettin’ on fine wi’ y’r learnin’. 
It beats me where ye pick up some o’ th’ language 
ye use.’ 

‘ Ut’s born in me, sorr,’ sighed Ginger. 

‘ Nothing can upset ye here, mannie, it’s as peaceful 
as a graveyard.’ 


GINGER AS A FORLORN HOPE 287 

‘ Nothin’, sorr — unless ’ 

‘ Unless what, laddie ? ’ 

‘ Och, unless yez get yerself joined up in th’ unholy 
trammels av matrimony.’ 

The following morning Murrimbidgee left Harefield 
for London, and came back in the evening ; he told 
no one the business which had taken him away ; his 
face still wore its expressionless mask, and his cold, 
reserved manner was as undisturbed as of old. A 
group of wounded men, nearly convalescent, were 
eagerly discussing the morning’s paper as he pushed 
past them. 

‘ Say, Murrimbidgee, did you ever run into an Anzac 
chap called Watson — William Henry Watson ? ’ de- 
manded Stringybark in an aggrieved voice. 

The gambler paused and eyed the group calmly. 

‘ Not that I remember. What’s wrong with Mister 
Watson anyway ? Been burglin’ th’ Tower f’r th’ 
sake of th’ ancient relics or the Crown Jewels, eh ? ’ 

‘ Burglin’ nothin’, he’s got the V.C. f’r unparalleled 
bravery, th’ paper says, got it yesterday. Who is 
he, that’s what we want to know ? ’ 

‘ Sorry I can’t oblige, Stringy, I don’t carry Mr. 
Watson about in my pocket.’ 

‘ Funny thing, none of us can place the beggar.’ 

‘ Not so funny when you come to think of it ; half 
of us don’t know each other’s real names ; I know 
you as Stringybark ; does any one here know what 
Saddleflap was christened ? I don’t.’ 

Stringy scratched his head. ‘ That’s a fact, ’nd 
not a blessed man here knows your real name, Murrim- 
bidgee.’ 

‘ Hush, an’ I’ll tell you boys, but mind it’s a secret : 


2 88 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


I'm the Duke o’ Doughnuts in disguise ; I went out 
to Australia when I was very young to gain colonial 
experience : now you all know, and I expect you to 
keep it a dark an’ deadly secret ; some one might 
tell my folks ’nd get me disinherited.’ 

The crowd grinned, and Murrimbidgee passed on. 

‘ You never get much out of Murrimbidgee by ask- 
ing,’ growled Saddleflap. 

' Sits on his secrets like a cat near a mouse-hole/ 
admitted Stringy. 

A nurse took the story to Ginger, and instantly 
he saw visions. 

‘ Sister ? ’ 

‘ Well, Ginger ? ’ 

* Have yez got a little box ye cud lend me ? ’ 

* What sort of a box ? ’ 

‘ Och, wan like th’ jewellers put a woman’s brooch 
in.’ 

Ginger was a favourite of the nurse, and she was~a 
bit of an imp herself. 

' You re up to mischief, Ginger.’ 

* Stop takin’ away me character, an’ lend me the 
box, an’ — an’ a sheet av tissue paper.’ 

The sister, scenting fun, slipped away, and soon 
Ginger had what he asked for. Wrapping the tissue 
paper carefully round the box, he held it clasped in 
both hands in an adoring fashion. Murrimbidgee was 
the first to go to him. 

‘ Hullo, kid, what’s bitin’ you ? You look as sweet 
as honey in the comb.’ 

Ginger raised shining eyes to the quiet face, then 
nodded towards the box in his hands. 

' Got a present, kid ? ’ 


GINGER AS A FORLORN HOPE 289 

‘ Oi’m near mad wid joy — an’ — an’ pride, Murrim- 
bidgee.’ 

‘ What is it ? ’ 

‘ You won’t tell ? * 

‘ Bet your sweet life, kid. ’ 

‘ Ut’s — ut’s the V.C., Murrimbidgee.’ 

‘ Well done, kid. I didn’t know that decoration was 
ever sent to a soldier ; thought a chap had to go and 
get it. Why not tell the boys ? They’ll be as glad 
as I am. May I have a peep at it, Ginger ? ’ 

‘ N-o, I must show it to th’ Auld Timer first, an’ 
he’s out f’r th’ day.’ 

* Good boy, keep it for him. Lord, he’ll take th’ 
roof off when he knows. You don’t drink, an’ I 
couldn’t ask you to have one with me here if you 
did, but consider it done, kid;’ 

* Oi cud smoke on ut, though’ as soon as Oi’m up.’ 

Murrimbidgee drew forth a packet half full of fags, 

and pushed them into Ginger’s hand. 

‘ Here you are, smoke these the first time you wear 
your V.C.’ 

‘ Thank yez kindly, Murrimbidgee, Oi’ll smoke ’em 
all right, an’ Murrimbidgee ’ 

‘ Yes ? ’ 

‘ Yez can tell th’ rest av th’ boys if yez loike.’ 

The gambler soon passed the word round, and the 
Anzac soldiers with hearty smiles on their grim faces 
clustered round his bed congratulating him in un- 
stinted terms. They knew why he would not let them 
see the V.C., and they applauded him for keeping the 
first view of the treasure for the man who had done 
so much for him. Then Ginger’s magnanimity rose 
to Alpine heights. 


19 


2go 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


' Yez may touch th’ box wid y’r fingers if yez loike,’ 
he whispered, and one by one they put their rough 
strong hands upon the tissue paper that they thought 
hid the cherished emblem for which each and all of 
them had hazarded life and limb on many a battle- 
field, and it was typical of the crowd that not a man 
begrudged Ginger the honour they fancied had come 
to him. Shyly they pressed gifts of tobacco and 
cigarettes upon him until the bedclothes bulged with 
his ill-gotten gains. 

‘ Lave me now f’r a bit, boys, an’ let me slape. 
Oi’m most overcome wid me honours an’ — an’ y’r 
kindness. Oi’ll thry an’ slape a wink.’ 

So they slipped away to talk over the great event, 
and Ginger beckoned his friend the nurse. 

‘ You wicked little wretch/ said she. 

‘ Gam/ he grinned, ‘ they’ve had me by th’ leg 
hundreds av times, an’ ut’s my turn to-day ; as th’ 
Auld Timer’d say : ‘ Th’ Lord gied them inter my 
hand.’ Now sister, will yez take away th’ spoils av 
war an’ hide ’em f’r me again a day av famine.’ 

A little later Murrimbidgee came again. 

* Say, kid, I’ve been looking down the list of V.C.’s. 
What is your real name ? ’ 

‘ Didn’t yez know ? ’ queried Ginger innocently. 

‘ No.’ 

‘ Faith, Oi thought everywan knew ut was William 
Henry Watson.’ 

Murrimbidgee straightened up like a bow unbent. 

* You— you little devil, it’s not ; that’s my name.’ 

* Oh, is ut ? Well, I borrowed it f’r terday ; yez 
can have ut back agin, Oi’m through wid ut.’ 

‘ And what was to-day’s circus then, kid ? ’ 


GINGER AS A FORLORN HOPE 291 

* A grand leg-pullin' '.competition wid lots av fags 
f’r th’ winner, an' that’s me. Go away now, Murrim- 
bidgee, Oi want ter meditate.’ 

‘ So will the chaps when they find out.’ 

* Let ’em,’ chortled Ginger, ‘ many’s th’ time they’ve 
put ut acrosst me, ter-day Oi scalped th’ lot.’ 

When the Anzacs discovered how they had been 
hoist with a petard they were fond of using themselves, 
their language was not the language of the psalmist. 

* I don’t mind him havin’ me for a shillin’s worth 
o’ fags,’ muttered Saddleflap, ‘ but when I think of 
the way he made me caress that damn box, I feel I'd 
only be doin’ my Christian duty if I was to beat him 
up, an’ I would too if he was well.’ 

Then some one chuckled, and a moment later the 
whole of Harefield was one big smile, even the very 
sick men in their beds forgot their pain for a few 
moments and giggled as they pictured the crowd of 
hard-baked warriors fingering a girl’s empty brooch 
box reverently. It was characteristic of Ginger that 
as soon as he could hobble about, he went from one 
sick soldier to another and shared the plunder of that 
day. No one but the imp knew really who William 
Henry Watson was, and at a word from Murrimbidgee 
he held his peace. But there was dark trouble ahead 
for the gambler ; some one who bore him a grudge 
had written to the Devon lass telling her what 
Murrimbidgee ’s calling had been before the war. 

No one but a cur would have given Murrimbidgee 
away to the girl he had learned to love, and for whose 
sake he meant to throw the past behind him and live 
as only clean, strong men live, that he might make him- 
self worthy to mate with a good lass ; but there are 


292 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


such men born into the world, creatures who are never 
happy unless they are wrecking the ladders by which 
other men are seeking to climb to the heights of redemp- 
tion, and Murrimbidgee had made an enemy of such 
a one, who was bent on wrecking the only really 
beautiful episode that had come into the soulless, 
hardbitten life. Some men find a flower in their 
path at every step they take along life’s highway ; 
some see but few ; and now and then a man is born 
whose fingers touch but one flower in the garden of 
the world in a lifetime, and of this latter kind was 
Murrimbidgee, who had been cursed from his cradle. 
The value such lonely souls put upon the rare prize 
that comes athwart their lives cannot be gauged by 
common standards ; the gifts the gods send so spar- 
ingly mean heaven on earth to them ; and woe to that 
man who comes between them and their rare treasure. 

The creature who had thrown his baleful shadow 
on Murrimbidgee ’s happiness had done his work well. 
He had studied the Devon girl during her visits to 
Harefield Hospital ; he noted her pride in herself and 
her relations ; and on that knowledge he had planned 
and acted, feeling sure that the shock that would come 
to the girl with the knowledge of such a career as Mur- 
rimbidgee’s had been would shatter her love and her 
faith, so he had written to the Devon lass, pouring all 
the venom of his putrid personality into his letter, 
and he stripped the gambler and presented him on the 
written page naked, vile, unclean, a leper amongst his 
kind. That blow fell upon the Devon girl like a 
thunderbolt ; it shattered her warrior idol as nothing 
else could have done, it it was true and her soldier was 
a bird of prey in peace time ; to love him meant shame 


GINGER AS A FORLORN HOPE 


293 


for her ; she knew if she mated with him it would 
break her mother's heart and bow her father’s head in 
the dust. All through the long watches of a lonely 
night she wrestled with her grief, wondering, as the 
young will, why love, the divine gift, had been given 
her, tainted with the leprous taint of unutterable 
shame. The dawn found her still dressed, sitting by 
her bedside reading the hateful letter that had seared 
her soul. 

‘ A gambler, a card-sharper and a blackleg,’ mur- 
mured the girl as she sat with blanched cheeks reading 
the cowardly epistle,’ a man whom honest men shun 
and no decent woman would associate with.’ She 
put her face in her hands and sobbed, for she loved 
him. 

The next visiting day she went to Harefield as 
usual, and just inside the grounds she met McGlusky, 
who was lurking in the hope of seeing his own 
particular divinity, Gwennie. The Devon lass had 
heard much of McGlusky as a man who was straight 
and true. She paused, and he saw by her white, set 
face that she was in sore trouble. 

‘ Ye’ll be wantin’ ta ha' a crack wi’ ma, miss ? ’ 

The girl searched his face with heavy, pain-dimmed 
eyes, then trusted her instinct. Putting the anony- 
mous letter in his hands, she said : 

‘ Tell me, do you know if this is true or false ? ’ 

He read the letter slowly and carefully, and she 
heard his teeth grit together. 

‘ A ken who wrote this letter, miss, it’s like copper- 
plate ; na ither man in the Anzacs cud write like it but 
the yin who wrote it.’ 

' Is it true ? ’ 


294 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


‘ Th’ mon who wrote it is a leear ; Smooth Jimmy 
is wha’ th’ boys ca’ him. A ken him weel ; a leear 
he was born an’ bred, a leear by instinct an’ choice, 
aye, an’ a cooard ta his heart’s core.’ 

' Is it true ? ’ 

The woman had gripped the bedrock of the matter, 
and would not let it go. McGlusky recognized this 
fact, and bending his shaggy brows and towering over 
her, he said, his rich, rough voice vibrating like a harp- 
string : 

‘ Lassie, afore A answer ye, let me tell ye ye ha’ a 
mon’s soul in y’r keepin’. A ken Murrimbidgee, A 
ha’ fought by his side against Turks an’ Germans, A 
ha’ bivouacked wi’ him, thirsted an’ half starved wi’ 
him ; there’s no braver laddie on this planet, an’ he 
has th’ makin’ o’ a mon in him, an’ a big mon, but he 
needs a helpin’ han’, a woman’s han’, an’ lassie, ye 
air th’ woman.’ 

‘ Tell me, Mr. McGlusky, is he, has he been what 
that letter says he is and has been ? ’ 

Then McGlusky’s rugged figure stiffened, his fierce 
old eyes blazed, his big hands clenched, and his voice 
came deep and resonant. 

* Tell ye ? Who am A ta sit in judgment on ma 
brither mon ? Who am A ta sit in th’ seat o’ th’ 
scornful ? Air ma own han’s sae clean that A dare 
tae cast a stane at yin who is fightin’ f’r his soul ! 
Yon laddie ha’ never had a chance in life— gie it him, 
noo’s th’ time tae prove yersel’ a woman ; eef ye’ll 
no’ dae it, y’re only something tae hang a petticoat 
on.’ 

A figure moved quickly from between the trees 
and came and stood between the girl and the veteran. 


GINGER AS A FORLORN HOPE 295 

A shapely, sun-tanned hand took the letter from 
McGlusky. The girl looked into Murrimbidgee ’s hand- 
some face, white now in spite of all its tan, as he read 
Smooth Jimmy’s damning epistle. Then the brown 
eyes and the blue met. 

' Is it true ? ’ 

‘ Every w r ord of it,’ answered Murrimbidgee. “ I 
meant to have told you myself, and explained. 
For God’s sake give me a chance. I want to be square 
I want to go straight.’ 

‘ You were a gambler, card-sharper and a professed 
cheat ? ’ 

‘ Yes.’ 

The girl moaned, and her moan was strangely like 
that of some stricken animal ; then she looked Murrim- 
bidgee full in the face and turning, walked out of the 
grounds, and both men knew that for her there wxmld 
be no looking back. 

Murrimbidgee thrust his hand into his pocket, drew 
out a case and handed it to McGlusky. The veteran 
opened it and saw the coveted V.C. 

‘ Wha’ does it mean, buckie ? ’ 

‘ I’m William Plenry Watson, V.C., that’s all, Mac. 
I came to meet her and show her, I — thought — it 
might help to — blot out the past.’ 

‘ It’s hell, laddie, cold frozen hell. Bide here a 
wee.’ 

‘ Where are you going," Old Timer ? ’ 

‘ A’ve a call frae th’ Lord.’ 

‘ Where to, Mac ? ’ 

‘ Smooth Jimmy is leavin’ th’ hospital to-morrow, 
he’s a well mon.’ 

* Yes, Mac.’ 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


296 

‘ A’m wantin’ a word wi’ him before he gets too 
far away, it will save carryin’ him back here.’ 

‘ No, Mac, that’s my job, I’ll get him in France — 
if you touch him I’ll hate you while I live.’ 

‘ Buckie,’ whispered Mac, ‘ let ma ha’ jest yin 
minute wi’ him, jest yin.’ 

‘ Not half a minute. I know you and I know 
Smooth Jimmy; he’s mine, Mac.’ 

‘ A’richt, A canna refuse ye, but A’m weeshin’ 
th’ de’il wud transform me inta a German f’r five 
minutes an’ gie ma Smooth Jimmy tae deal wi’ f’r 
seexty seconds; A’d fill a wee crevice in hell.’ 

They went into Ginger’s ward together, and the 
hardiest of the Anzacs gave Murrimbidgee a wide berth 
from that hour. 

‘ He’s found his familiar again,’ grunted Stringy. 

‘ Yes, an’ brimstone hot too,’ replied Saddleflap. 

‘ Wonder what’s bit him ? ’ 

A little later there came an urgent call for men to 
go to France, and McGlusky and Murrimbidgee applied 
to be allowed to go with the draft. 

‘ Hardly fit, are you ? ’ demanded the surgeon. 

' Plenty worse than us out there doing their bit, 
and anyway we know the ropes,’ snapped the gambler, 
and so they were included in the draft, and the last 
thing McGlusky saw as the train pulled out of the 
station was Gwennie holding up her sweet face to be 
kissed by her fiance, a sprightly young lieutenant of 
artillery. 

‘ Weel, A’ll be dommed,’ gasped McGlusky, * there’s 
twenty-four poems an’ as many postage stamps gone 
ta blazes. Ginger was richt after a’ ; she was no’ a 
stately cedar tae cling tae, only a hop pole, but A’d 


GINGER AS A FORLORN HOPE 297 


ha' gie’d a year's pay tae ha’ had those kisses ! ' 
Murrimbidgee, who was sitting close to McGlusky, 
saw Gwennie also, and his thoughts travelled away 
instantly to that other maid whom all the wounded at 
Harefield called the Devon lass, and something more 
bitter than death came into Murrimbidgee 's soul, for 
he knew that if it had not been for Smooth Jimmy’s 
foul actions he might have won her. * I would have .told 
her myself/ he murmured to his own soul, * and she 
would have given me a chance to redeem my past ; but 
he spoilt my chance— the only one I ever had, and she 
thought I was going to hide it from her, 'nd live a he.' 
Then his brows came together and his teeth gritted as 
he muttered, * This old earth ain't big enough to 
hold me an’ Smooth Jimmy ; one of us has got to quit.* 


CHAPTER XIV 

THE WONDER OF BAPAUME 

T IME, passing swiftly to the accompaniment of 
world-shaking events, brought Ginger, Mc- 
Glusky and Snowy together again in France. Many 
ironical remarks were hurled at Ginger from time to 
time concerning the V.C. he had won in Blighty, 
but this did not affect that young man’s temper or 
appetite. He took what was coming to him philoso- 
phically and smiled his angel smile, and did his best 
to work off more leg-pulling combinations on all and 
sundry with whom he came in contact, but every day 
his task in this respect grew harder, his reputation 
spread so fast that he was forced to go outside the 
Anzac ranks when he really wanted a victim, and it 
was not at all unusual to see him come back to their 
own lines in a hurry, helped on his way by indignant 
Tommies who threw anything that was handy at him, 
to speed him on his way, and very often McGlusky 
had to intervene to save the young limb from condign 
punishment, and this led to more than one fight with 
the fists, in which the veteran came in for some pretty 
hefty handling, for many of the British Tommies were 
as good with their hands as they were with the bayonet. 
On one occasion Ginger purchased five dozen very 
small oranges from a French woman at a penny 
a piece, then, having been put wise to the trick 

298 


THE WONDER OF BAPAUME 


299 


by prospector Brown, who had been amongst 
other things a purveyor of fruit in Australia, Ginger 
boiled those oranges, causing them to swell to a really 
royal size, the boiling not only causing the swelling* 
but rendering the fruit as tasteless as an old rag. 
Sauntering to the lines of a Scottish regiment, he 
swiftly disposed of his stock at threepence each, and 
was sidling off campwards, when a brawny Scot 
charged down upon him and gave him a hoist with 
his boot that made Gipger think a ‘ tank ’ had bolted, 
from its moorings, and run into him. The cub did 
not pause to make inquiries concerning the reason* 
of the assault, for half the kilties in his vicinity were 
coming towards him with wrath in their eyes and boiled 
oranges in their hands, and as he fled they bombed 
him with the hard boiled fruit. A group of Maoris 
lounging about after a hard day’s fighting, saw the 
attack on their idol, and not knowing (and perhaps 
not caring) about the cause of the melee, ran laugh- 
ing to the rescue, and one of them got a boiled 
orange right on the point of his nose, and it was 
hurled by a kiltie with an arm like a weaver’s beam. 
With a yell the Maori sprang upon the Scot, and com- 
rades of both sides joined in the impromptu fray. The 
Scots were big and brawny, but a Maori contingent on 
the war path takes a lot of beating, wrestlers and 
rough and tumble fighters to a man, and every man an 
athlete, they fought like dervishes. The kilties too 
were very willing, and the numbers were with them. 
Scottish slogan and Maori war yell rent the air as those 
solid brawny men grappled and smote with the naked 
fists, and gave the hip and the heel, and threw each 
other headlong to earth. Ginger had paused a moment 


300 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


when the Maoris rushed ; for a second his Irish love 
of a shindy nearly took him back into the fray, but 
his ranging eyes and quick wit told him numbers 
must prevail. He sped away like an arrow to the 
Australian bivouac to bring up reinforcements. Quickly 
he told his story, omitting to state the cause of the 
ruction. McGlusky sprang into action at once. 

‘ Maoris fechtin’ f’r ye, an' ye runnin’, Ginger ! 
A’m no’ prood o’ ye.' 

* Oi was actin’ as a galloper bringin’ news av battle,' 
stormed Ginger. 

' Oh, aye, aye, ye galloped sure enough ; noo right 
aboot face an’ gallop back an’ help ta swat th’ kilties.' 

With a howl of rage, Ginger wheeled in his tracks 
and shot off like a greyhound towards the combatants, 
Snowy, chewing a piece of gum, ran elbow to elbow 
with McGlusky, no sign of passion on his strangely 
youthful face, and Murrimbidgee ran level with Snowy. 
All the Australians who were near by were speeding 
to the melee, except Smooth Jimmy, who had no 
stomach for hard knocks. 

The Maoris were not sorry to see the supports coming 
up, for battling against long odds they were getting 
Eadly mauled. It was not hard to mark Ginger’s 
line of battle. Stung to the marrow by McGlusky 's 
taunt, he had rushed into the fray yelling like a red- 
skin, and light as he was, he made his presence felt 
amongst the big kilties, for when his Celtic blood was 
up he was more like a catamount than a man, and he 
got a catamount's treatment from those heavy-handed 
Scots. A foreigner looking upon that scene might easily 
have been forgiven if he gleaned the impression that 
these men hated one another with a furious hatred, 


THE WONDER OF BAPAUME 


301 

but it was not so, it was just a diversion ; each man 
did his best or his worst, but they kept to the rules 
of the game ; there was no kicking or gouging, no 
using of belts, and the buckle end of a belt is an ugly 
weapon that will lay a head open like a sabre stroke. 
Officers who caught sight of the fracas turned dis- 
creetly away — it was a way the Jocks and the Anzacs 
had of relieving themselves from the ennui of soldier- 
ing. Lustily they smote each other for the good of 
their souls. 

In the fury of the fray some one threw one of Gin- 
ger’s oranges, which took McGlusky on the apple of 
the throat and sent him gasping to the earth. Snowy 
picked him up. 

‘ What was yon ? ’ he demanded as soon as he 
could speak. ‘ A didn’a theenk a kiltie wad spoil 
a pleasant evenin’ by thro win’ a stane/ 

‘ Wrong, Old Timer, it wasn’t a stone r it was fruit/ 

‘ Fruit ? — A’m glad ye tellt me, Snowy. Wha’ kind 
o’ fruit was it ? Something they train elephants on ? ’ 

The picnic was over, so Snowy explained the situa- 
tion to the veteran. 

‘ Th’ unchancy wee de’il, did he get threepence 
each from Scots f’r that kind o’ fruit, Snowy ? ’ 

' He did.’ 

McGlusky chuckled. 

' Th’ wee beastie ! A wonner they did na kill him/ 

' Well, they haven’t, but he’s got the father of a 
beating, and this time Master Ginger has paid for his 
tricks.’ 

‘ It was no’ done f’r gain, ye ken, Snowy, it was just 
th’ high speerits o’ th’ buckie. There’s no’ an atom o’ 
vice in him, it’s — it’s just his way o’ expressin’ himself/ 


302 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


‘ Well, those kilties have been expressing themselves 
too, Ole Timer ; look at Ginger now.’ 

McGlusky looked at his pet and a more dishevelled 
image it would have been hard to find anywhere. 

‘ Losh, wee mannie, ye look as eef ye’d been takin’ 
part in a Boxer rebellion, no’ in a Christian fecht.’ 

‘ Faith, sorr,’ said Ginger with his impish grin, 
y’r no hand paintin’ yerself, sorr.’ 

When the Anzacs got back to their bivouac there 
was much rude chaff and laughter concerning the im- 
provement or otherwise in their facial picturesqueness. 

‘ Ye went f’r t hustles an’ ye got ’em,’ chortled 
McGlusky. 

‘ It wasn’t a thistle that got me,’ cooed Stringybark, 
44 it was a big fist full o’ bones — I ran right into it.’ 

‘ Aye,’ quoth Mac, ‘ y’r mooth is like a bed o’ roses 
that a curate has been sittin’ on, Stringy.’ 

‘ Why didn’t you duck when the kiltie punched ? ’ 
queried Smooth Jimmy. 

‘ I’d have had time ter duck if I’d been a blanky 
long-range fighter like you,’ snarled Stringy. 

* Och, let Smooth Jimmy alone,’ drawled Ginger, 
T duckin’ danger’s th’ only part of fightin’ that he 
understands, he’s a jaynius at ut, but when he gets 
ter Blighty again he’ll be tellin’ th’ boys in th’ bars 
how many kilties he laid out ter-day.’ 

Then, having exhausted the subject of the friendly 
little scrap which had left no trace of malice behind 
it, the Anzacs beguiled the time with songs and stories 
of other days. Murrimbidgee had taken no part in 
the banter that followed the scrap, though he had 
played no mean part in the fray, always sticking 
close to Snowy and more than once getting blows that 


THE WONDER OF BAPAUME 


303 


were intended for that cool-brained warrior. He 
thought those things were unnoticed, but Snowy 
did not miss much that went on around him, in a fight 
or out of it. Now Murrimbidgee sat as of old outside 
the circle, and as of old, he shuffled his pack of cards, 
but he never looked at them, his big eyes watched 
Smooth Jimmy, who was tolerated in the circle because 
he could play the violin like a wizard. He was play-' 
ing now in answer to a call from a dozen throats, and 
Ginger sang to Smooth Jimmy’s accompaniment, and 
never for a moment did Murrimbidgee ’s burning eyes 
leave the fiddler’s face. The musician became aware 
of the eyes that watched, and he shifted uneasily 
where he sat. So had it been for many a night. The 
gambler had made no threat, given no"Tiint by word 
of .mouth that he knew of the letter Smooth Jimmy 
had written to the Devon girl from Harefield hospital, 
but the traitor knew that the gambler knew, and he 
went in quaking dread of his life. Once or twice, 
like the coward he was, he made overtures of amity, 
but Murrimbidgee only stared at him ; never once 
did he speak, but night or day, when the two men 
were off duty, Murrimbidgee clung to Smooth Jimmy 
like a shadow, waiting, always waiting for the man 
who had robbed him of his one chance of redemption. 
In the trenches it was the same ; somehow or another 
Murrimbidgee always managed to place himself next 
to Smooth Jimmy ; he never smiled his sarcastic 
smile, never frowned, he just looked at his enemy 
until what little nerve the man had brought into 
the world seemed to shrivel up. He dared not move 
a yard after dark alone, and the whole company knew 
it. Mac had said to Murrimbidgee : 


304 GINGER AND McGLUSKY 

‘ Yon gommerill will be desertin’ yin o’ these fine 
days.’ 

The answer came like the snapping of a rifle. 

‘ There will be two deserters that day, Mac.’ 

‘ Why dinna ye beat him up wi’ y’r han’s an’ ha’ 
done wi’ it, laddie ? ’ 

‘ Did you ever see a man die of thirst in the bush, Mac? * 

‘ A have, laddie, an’ it’s a sicht ta mak’ de’ils weep.’ 

* I feel like that, an’ Mac, no beating up will quench 
my thirst ; you fergit it, Old Timer, it’s Smooth 
Jimmy an’ me for it when the chance comes/ 

The traitor had gone to the padre with his story. 

‘ What wrong did you do him ? ’ 

‘ None, padre/ 

‘ You lie in your throat ; men don’t hate like that 
for nothing. I know men, and besides, you carry a 
lie on your face, in your eyes, in your voice, your 
conscience is flogging you with fear.’ 

‘ You won’t help me, padre ? ’ 

‘ I won’t help a liar. Tell me the thing you did 
and I’ll see if you’re past helping.’ 

Then Smooth Jimmy confessed. 

* God may pardon you,’ said the padre, ‘ William 
Watson, the man you all call Murrimbidgee, never will. 
I’ve known him from his childhood.’ 

' William — Watson, padre, is that his right name ? ’ 

‘ Yes, William Watson, V.C/ 

With a fresh quake in his cowardly heart Smooth 
Jimmy had gone on his way, and the padre went to 
the gambler. 

‘ Is Smooth Jimmy worth what you are going to 
do, Murrimbidgee ? ’ 

' No, padre.’ 


THE WONDER OF BAPAUME 


305 


' Why do it then ? ’ 

' Do you know what he did to me? ' 

‘ Yes — the cur.’ 

‘ McGlusky told you ? ’ 

' No, he told me himself/ 

‘ You’re a good man, padre, about the only really 
good man I ever met — bar Snowy.’ 

Some padres might not have liked to be classed 
with the sharpshooter, but this one who knew Snowy 
root and branch did not object. 

' I’m only a man, the same as you are, me son ; 
we all have our secret failings.’ 

' You believe in heaven, padre ? ’ 

‘ I do, me son/ 

‘ Well, if you had the power an’ offered me a front 
seat in the choir there, I wouldn’t alter my purpose ; 
it’s me an’ Smooth Jimmy for it sooner or later/ 

The spoken voice was so quiet, so full of deadly 
menace that the padre who, as he had said, knew men, 
turned sorrowfully away, knowing it hopeless to pursue 
the matter further. 

On the night of the dust-up with the kilties Mur- 
rimbidgee’s eyes gleamed like a panther’s as he sat 
watching the man he hated ; his blood was heated 
with the fight he had fought without malice, and his 
watching eyes unnerved his victim, who, ceasing to 
play, screwed his fiddle so violently that a couple of 
strings broke. 

‘That does it,’ remarked Kurnalpi/ no more melody 
— it’s me for the village ; I’ve got a permit. Any 
one else coming ? ’ 

A couple of soldiers sprang up, and Smooth Jimmy 
rose also. 


20 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


306 

‘ I — 111 go too, I’ve a pass ; perhaps 111 get some 
new fiddle-strings in the village.’ 

He walked away with the others into the night. 
Murrimbidgee rose softly like a cat and joined the 
group. He didn’t say he had a pass — he didn’t say 
anything, but Smooth Jimmy did, and what he said 
wouldn’t look nice in a book. The next minute he 
was back by the bivouac fire again, his teeth chattering 
as if he had the ague. 

‘ Heard his blanky teeth goin’ as if he was bitin ’ 
sun-dried beans,’ declared prospector Brown. ‘ Watch 
out, Murrimbidgee, or hell go loco an’ slip a bullet 
into you.’ 

‘Wish he’d try, I’m waiting for — just that.’ 

‘ You’re a blanky good hater, Murrimbidgee.’ 

* My only virtue,’ came the cold retort. 

‘ He’s let you down somehow, we all know that, 
though we don’t know how.’ 

* He does.’ 

‘ Yes, th’ carmine skunk, he knows ; why did he 
do it ? ’ 

‘ He was a gambler, same as me, before the war ; 
he put up a job on me an’ I beat him at his own game.’ 

‘ Cards, eh ? ’ 

‘ No, dice ; he thought he could make ’em talk.’ 

‘ Couldn’t he ? ’ 

‘ Yes, but I could make ’em talk louder, that’s 
why he put it across me in Blighty.’ 

‘ A woman or money, eh ? ’ 

* Go to blazes, prospector.’ 

That was all, but the Company knew, and the men 
watched the strange duel wondering when and how 
it would end ; they saw through Murrimbidgee’s game \ 


THE WONDER OF BAPAUME 


307 

he was trying to get on Smooth Jimmy's nerves until 
he should, as prospector Brown phrased it, ‘ go loco ' 
and attack with a weapon, either bullet or bayonet. 
That Murrimbidgee was taking big chances in the 
desperate game he was playing, all realized, because 
he meant to make the other man make the first move, 
and that move might mean a bullet through heart 
or brain, but how cool and quick he was, and how 
tirelessly watchful they also knew, and prospector 
Brown voiced the general opinion when he said : 

* It's the fires of hell, against a bundle of matchwood 
on Murrimbidgee, bar accidents.' 

The whirligig of time brought the hour when the 
British began to speculate upon how long it would 
be before the High Command would order the taking 
of Bapaume with the steel. Every soldier knew that 
it must eventually be an infantrymen's job. 

1 Got to go an’ hook 'em out with the “ spoons " ; 
the artillery can -shake ’em, but not shift ’em,' vouch- 
safed a Tommy of the Manchesters one night to a 
group of whom the grim McGlusky was one. 

‘ Oh aye, that's aboot it,’ was the veteran’s answer. 

* You oughter be useful in a scrum o’ that sort,' 
ventured the Tommy, eyeing the gigantic proportions 
of the veteran. 

‘ A’m no' sae sure,' murmured Mac plaintively; 

' th' sicht o’ bluid always mak's ma stomach wamble.’ 

The Tommy, who was a new arrival from Blighty, 
and knew not Mac, was moved to great scorn by this 
amiable confession of weakness. 

* Makes yer stummick wamble, does it ? Well, 
you’re a nice one to be in the fightin’ line, you oughter 
be home with the conscientious objectors, you did 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


308 

‘ Noo doot, noo doot,’ agreed Mac, * an’, ma son, 
A’ll no’ be surprisit eef A weesh A was afore we get 
through wi’ th’ takin’ o’ Bapaume. A’m no’ perish- 
in’ wi’ anxiety f’r a Hun ta skewer ma wi’ his 
baggonet.’ 

* Haven't you ever been in a fight, mister ? ’ 

‘ A have,’ cooed the giant, ‘ an' that’s wha’ mak’s 
ma feel wambly in th’ innards, maybe A’d no’ be 
scairt if A didna ken wha’ A had ta be scairt aboot, 
but, ma son, half a yard o’ baggonet in yer wame is 
no’ a nice thing f’r breakfast, lunch or supper, it’s — 
it’s upsettin’.’ 

* Well, I wouldn’t be such a damn coward as you, 
mister, f’r a acre of diamonds.’ 

‘ A canna help it,’ crooned Mac, ‘it’s th’ way a 
mon’s constructed ba nature — y’re a tiger in troosers 
yersel’, an’ dinna ken fear.’ 

‘ You old Scotch waster.’ 

Mac’s eyes snapped fire. 

‘ Dinna malign th’ country that bred ma mither an’ 
ma father, or by th’ whuskers o’ Mahomet A’ll crumple 
ye oop in y’r claes an’ pull ye bit by bit through th’ 
meshes o’ th’ cloth.’ 

Ginger sidled up to the insulter. 

‘ Och, ye damn fool, have a fit quick, an’ we’ll 
carry yez to yer own lines in one piece ; if ye don’t 
he’ll manhandle yez, an’ we’ll have ter sweep yez up 
wid a broom.’ 

‘ But he’s a coward, he said so himself.’ 

‘ He did, an’ he’s th’ only man out o’ hell that dares 
ter say it. Have a fit, or — or break all records over 
a hundred yards, or he’ll ate yez,— that’s McGlusky.’ 

The Scot had tossed away his belt and side arms. 


THE WONDER OF BAPAUME 


309 

' A’m needin’ a wee bit o’ divarsion th’ noo,’ he 
muttered. 

‘ I’m not,’ growled the in suiter, on whom the name 
had acted like magic, ‘ I’m needin’ a lot o’ exercise,' 
and he took it. 

‘ Weel, weel,’ grumbled the big man, ‘ Ginger, th’ 
next time ye interfere wi’ ma pleasures, All skelp 
ye wi’ ma belt ; y’re ower fresh f’r y’r age. What 
did yon buckie tak’ ma for that he left sae hurriedly — 
a leeon tamer ? ’ 

‘ Think he took you for a fool killer at the finish. 
Old Timer,’ drawled Snowy and every one laughed 
except the Scot. 

* Na, na, A’m no’ that, Snowy, eef A was A’d be 
in parliament, no’ in th’ army.’ 

Smooth Jimmy sidled up to the old war lock whose 
support against Murrimbidgee he had been sedulously 
courting. 

‘ You put th’ fear o’ Gehenna into him, Mac.’ 

The veteran looked the speaker up and down, taking 
in every detail of his uniform, face and figure, then 
speaking over the head of his interlocutor, as if talking 
over a dirt -heap, he growled : 

* Ginger and Snowy, eef ye see this worm wi' a 
mouth tae it address ma again, clamp his breeks 
close tae his body an' hold him against th’ fire till he 
peels. Ye ken, A canna strike this sort, A canna even 
kick him, it’s beneath ma.' 

Murrimbidgee ’s dead level voice came clear and cold. 

‘ The man who hurts Smooth Jimmy hurts me — 
come for a walk, Jimmy.' 

His hand just touched the traitor’s shoulder ; Smooth 
Jimmy sprang back as if an adder had bitten him ; 


3io 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


his hand went to his bayonet and clutched it. Mur- 
rimbidgee stood with both hands hanging loosely by 
his sides, his malignant eyes on the eyes of the other. 
Smooth Jimmy began to froth at the comers of his 
mouth. 

‘ He’ll run amok an’ do it now,’ whispered Kumalpi. 

* Faith, an’ he won’t,’ retorted Ginger, ‘ he ain’t 
got th’ nerve, not wid them two eyes borin’ inter him 
like ferrets borin’ inter a rat-hole.’ 

Ginger was right, the coward hadn’t the nerve ; 
his hand dropped from his weapon, his chin fell upon 
his chest, and he dropped in a heap and sobbed as 
only a man utterly unstrung can sob. 

It was the day following that on which Smooth 
Jimmy had covered himself with contempt by losing 
his nerve and breaking down in front of his implacable 
enemy ; every man in the lines had the feeling that 
something big was about to happen ; they had 
heard whispers and had shrewdly put two and two 
together ; and though outwardly calm and unmoved 
every eye and ear was on the alert, and no one was 
astonished when the C.O. came striding down the ranks 
with his grim face set like stone and heard him say : 

‘ A big day to-day, boys ; it’s over the ridge and 
into Bapaume.' 

The Anzacs lounging in their lines caught the words 
of their C.O. and a cheer broke from them. 

‘ Over th’ ridge an’ far away to Kaiser Bill in 
Bapaume town,’ sang a voice from the back rank, 
paraphrazing ' Jock o’ Hazeldene.’ 

' Good boys, it’s got to be done, and you’re the boys 
to do it,’ said the C.O., who was inordinately proud 
of his troops. 


THE WONDER OF BAPAUME 


3ii 

After the first rustle of excitement had died away, 
the soldiers settled down for the solid work which they 
knew had to come, and when the order to advance came 
there was no rush, they just swung into their stride 
and went onward, the shells from the big British guns 
behind them whistling and screaming overhead as 
McGlusky quaintly remarked, ‘ like lost souls seeking 
a far country/ That covering fire from the British 
guns made the advance possible ; without it the Anzacs 
would have been swept into eternity in short order, 
but the big shells made the enemy trenches on the 
ridge an inferno ; they tore away the wire entangle- 
ments, half-filled trenches with dead Huns, silenced 
whole parks of quick-firing German guns, demoralized 
the enemy infantry and put many of the Kaiser's 
heavy guns out of action. The noise was devilish and 
continuous ; it did not come in bursts and spurts, 
but was continuous and sustained like the reverberating 
roar of breakers on cliff-crowned coasts in storm time. 
The thunderous roar of Hindenburg’s massed artillery 
added to the devils' jubilee, and soon came the fiendish 
clatter of rifles that had no number ; lead flew as sand 
flies on a wind-swept desert, and men fell as snow 
flakes fall when a Highland hurricane is driving. 
Troops of all sorts and conditions were pressing for- 
ward, as well as the Anzacs, and the sunlight fell 
on mile after mile of blue steel bared for the fleshing. 
The British high command had issued its stern dictum 
that there was to be no halfway house this 'journey, 
it must be death or victory. 

The man never came from the loins of man who 
could chronicle that advance and do justice to the 
troops engaged on the desperate quest. Men from a 


312 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


thousand British villages, men from every great city 
in the sea-girt isles were there, facing death as death 
has seldom been faced in all the annals of the million- 
year old world. Men in the splendour of manhood, 
men past their prime, lads with the down still upon 
thin young faces, but old or young demi-gods all, 
giving death defiance and pacifism the lie, daring all 
for an ideal, and that ideal the cleansing of the world 
and the ultimate betterment of mankind, supporting 
militarism for the time being in the hope of crushing 
it for ever and bringing peace, glad-eyed and glorious, 
to a world wallowing in a welter of blood at the bidding 
of a half -mad ape who flaunted the royal purple. 

As the troops pressed on, officers caught fleeting 
glances of brothers in arms they knew through the 
haze of smoke. A quick wave and answering wave 
of an arm, a shout : ‘ Hullo Taylor ! ’ — ‘ Hullo Ed- 
monds — good luck * — then like ships that pass in the 
night they would lose each other, one to stand by 
his gun, one to push on to the ridge, some to fall, 
some to live through that inferno, according to the 
writing on the wall, the why or wherefore of such 
happenings unknown to all except the tireless writer 
in the book of fate, each life part of a plan that affected 
the whole, each death a strand in the cobweb of destiny ; 
so was it at the beginning, so will it be to the end. 

McGlusky had uttered one curt command at the 
beginning of the attack to Ginger : 

' Keep close ta ma side this day, maybe it’s ma 
last fecht.’ 

And Ginger, for all his recklessness, was not likely 
to disobey that order. So the veteran went into 
battle with the Irish imp on his left hand and Snowy 


THE WONDER OF BAPAUME 


3i3 


on his right, and the man of many forays thanked 
God for such comrades. Ginger, as always in a fight, 
was uplifted in spirit, but wofully downthrown in 
language ; his Irish blood was seething, and he yelled 
at times like any redshank, and when the big shells 
ploughed a red path through Anzac ranks, he cursed 
as few could or would. 

‘ Haud y’r swearhT, Ginger, it’s no’ edifyin’ ; losh, 
laddie, y’re awfuV 

But the cub did not hear, or if he heard the voice 
of his mentor, he did not heed. 

Once as they marched steadily on, a bird rose from 
its nest a yard in front of McGlusky, and he saw the 
young brood in the nest that must soon be trampled 
underfoot. The big man stooped without pausing 
in his stride, and took the nest of young in his hand, 
and the mother bird fluttered near. Passing an over- 
turned gun carriage, the giant deftly placed the nest 
between the spokes of a broken wheel and swung 
onwards. Snowy looked at him, and for a moment 
there was a moisture in the eyes of the daredevil 
sharpshooter that was not brought there by the smoke 
of the battlefield. 

' Rough as a steer, gentle as a woman/ he mut- 
tered. ' Well, if I can save him, he don’t die to-day/ 

Now the Anzac rifles began to speak not in gusts of 
passion, but steadily, sonorously ; the men were 
aiming low, it was not their method to waste lead. 

The ridge loomed in sight, a Maori yell full of the 
pent-up frenzy of the hour, loosed itself upon the 
smoke-laden air ; the New Zealanders went forward 
with a rush and their bayonets lay level ; up their 
side of the ridge they went like wild steers breaking 


314 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


for the hills, and the Australians raced them. Then 
every German rifle snarled, every gun in the vicinity 
crashed in its quota of death and wounds, but nothing 
the Kaiser owned could stem that torrential 'rush. 
The charging men went down in smothers : companies 
that were, ceased to be ; regiments were eaten up ; 
but the residue went on. How it was faring with 
English, Irish, Welsh, or Scots, they did not know ; 
they had not time to look or think, though had they 
known it, all who were in that fight were doing marvels 
and proving that the days of miracles are not past, 
for Britain’s citizen army was on its toes to a man, 
willing and eager to fight. Valour great as the greatest 
the earth has seen was a commonplace that day ; the 
steel was red and dripping ; yell and counter yell broke 
above the storm of battle ; Bavarian, Prussian, 
Saxon, all stood their ground, for a long, long fight 
hand to hand ; standards waved and bugles tore 
through the devilish din ; rifles crackled and big 
guns roared ; but it was the steel that decided the 
mastery of the ridge. Who took it ? The Lord only 
knows, but the Anzacs did their share, and when the 
bitterly contested ridge was taken and the Germans 
hurled back upon the fortified village of Bapaume, 
the order ran along the Anzac lines : ‘ At them, 
men, no rest for the Huns ! ’ 

In the grim rush that followed, McGlusky, Ginger 
and Snowy were with the vanguard. The young men 
had often seen the veteran fight before that day, 
but never had they seen him quite as he was then : 
his gaunt figure drawn up to the full of his inches, 
his leonine old head held high, he lifted his feet like 
a war horse and strode over or through everything 


THE WONDER OF BAPAUME 


3i5 


that lay in his path, a strange look of exaltation upon 
his rugged face. Every now and again he chanted 
verses from the Psalms, punctuating the rhythmic 
lines with fierce lunges of his bayonet when Anzac 
and German met. 

' Why dae th’ heathen rage an’ th’ people eemagine 
a vain thing ? Th’ kings o’ th’ earth ha’ gathered 
thegither against th’ Lord an’ against His anointed. 
Hoot, ye de’il, hell’s waitin’ f’r ye ! ’ and his dripping 
steel would plunge into a foe and come back to the 
‘ ready ’ again like a lightning stroke. 

Ginger was gasping, Snowy was reeling in his tracks, 
but the veteran never grew leg or arm weary. 

Once a Prussian officer levelled his revolver point 
blank at the face of McGlusky and fired ; he was only 
a few feet away, and at that range he simply could 
not miss. With the speed of thought, Snowy, watching 
by the big man’s side, drove his shoulder into Mac’s 
ribs and dashed him on one side, for Snowy had not 
been a crack footballer for nothing. The bullet tra- 
velled true, but Mac’s head was not there to meet 
it, and before the Prussian could fire again Ginger 
ran forward a couple of steps, and his bayonet enter- 
ing the Prussian’s chest just below the Kaiser’s iron 
cross, did his business. 

Mac grunted as he regained his equilibrium : 

‘ A’m no’ bearin’ ye ony malice f’r th’ shove, Snowy, 
though ye’re no’ owerburdened wi’ ceremony.’ 

'You’d have been overburdened with lead if I was. 
Old Timer.’ 

‘ A’ll dee when ma hoor comes, no’ before, laddie, 
but ye meant week’ 

Bapaume lay right in front of them, an awesome 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


316 

spectacle, for British shells were raining into it by 
the ton. Fire and smoke met and mingled on all 
sides ; red splashes of flame shot through the grey 
and dun clouds of smoke, as houses caught fire and 
flared up ruddily. 

' Yon looks like a busy section o’ Tophet,’ cried 
McGlusky. 

' It’s busy all right,’ answered Snowy. ‘ Those 
Germans are sticking it well and serving their guns 
like men.’ 

‘ Oh aye, ye’re richt, an’ it’s no’ exactly a pleasant 
spot f’r us, wha’ wi’ th’ enemy artillery an’ oor own 
guns, A’m no’ sayin’ A ’ 

Out rang the signal for the Anzacs to halt ; the C.O. 
wanted to give them breathing time to be ready for 
the final desperate leap at Bapaume, and also to let 
the signallers warn the British gunners, so that they 
might not shamble their own men. As they stood 
leaning on their rifles, panting after the savage on-' 
slaught, a little flock of birds rose right over them 
singing blithely. 

‘ Yon’s a wonnerfu’ sicht, laddies, nature at peace 
an’ mon up to his hair in bluidy war.’ 

‘ Oi wisht Oi was a birrd,’ panted Ginger, ‘ if Oi 
was, Oi wouldn’t stop up there to do no singin’, Oi’d 
make a big break f’r Holland or — or th’ Canary Islands.’ 

‘ They’re trustin’ their Creator, Ginger.’ 

‘ Shucks, sorr, ut’s because they don’t know iron 
whin they see ut. If Oi had wings, ye wouldn’t see 
me tail feathers f’r dust.’ 

The advance sounded, and this time it was Bapaume 
or death. On the outskirts of the village the pick of 
Germany’s infantry stood ready for the fray ; volley 


THE WONDER OF BAPAUME 


3i7 


after volley they poured into the Anzac ranks, withering 
up those gallant lads like ripened grain before a prairie 
fire. A cloud of British airmen swept over them, dived 
down within pistol range, and blasted the German 
ranks with a hail of bombs, and still the Anzacs swept 
on, answering the call of the fighting pride that was 
their heritage. Bayonet met bayonet, and for a while 
nothing could be seen but a frenzied host of stabbing, 
hacking men — then the flower of the Prussian army 
crumpled up and fled, and Bapaume was won. 

As the troops marched triumphantly into the village 
that had cost so many gallant lives to win, Murrimbid- 
gee was seen slipping from one rank to the other, for 
in the fighting he had lost Smooth Jimmy, whose 
bump of caution had caused him to dodge back into 
the rear rank. Murrimbidgee asked no questions ; 
he just peered into men’s faces through the haze of 
smoke, and not finding the face he sought, passed on, 
questing like a hound after a lost scent. Smooth 
Jimmy had mapped out a programme for himself : 
he had made up his mind to surrender to the enemy 
at the first feasible opportunity, but the Germans, 
were not taking prisoners that day — they had no time. 
When the village was won, Smooth Jimmy slipped 
out of the ranks, entered a side street, and moved off 
at no laggard pace in the direction in which he knew 
the Germans lay. It was a risky procedure, but the 
dread of Murrimbidgee was strong upon him, and he 
knew that his comrades loathed him to a man. So 
he passed into the ever-thickening smoke, looking 
like a shadow amid unreal things. The gambler had 
almost given up his quest in despair, when he caught 
sight of some one in the familiar uniform stealing 


318 GINGER AND McGLUSKY 

away from the main body, and the hate within him 
which never slumbered told him this was the man he 
sought. With a low snarling laugh, he jumped off 
in pursuit. He knew the punishment he would get 
for this breach of discipline, but it would have taken 
more than that to hold him back whilst his quarry 
escaped, for he divined Smooth Jimmy’s intention. 
The fugitive had no idea he was being shadowed ; 
he turned into an open space and then a light hand 
touched his shoulder. He spun round, ready to throw 
up his hands if it were a German, and as he turned he 
looked into two burning eyes and a white, set face 
that he knew and dreaded. Slowly he backed away, 
bending nearly double as he went. Then Murrim- 
bidgee threw his bayonet forward. He did not speak, 
he did not hurry. Smooth Jimmy, brought to bay, 
yelled a protest : 

‘ I never did you no harm, I ’ 

‘ Liar ! I read your letter.’ 

That was all ; then Murrimbidgee advanced, and 
like a rat in a drain, Smooth Jimmy stood to fight. 
He had one attribute : he was the best man with a 
bayonet in the Anzac forces — in the drill hall, but he 
had proved himself a rotten fighter in spite of his 
skill. But desperate men sometimes fight well, and 
he knew he had to fight or go west. 

The Anzac troops came opposite that open space ; 
they were a good way from the two duellists, and now 
their full band was at their head playing the battle 
music that the Southerners love. The troops were 
halted ; fire and smoke from almost every house made 
a setting that suited those stern men, and as they 
halted the foremost ranks could see two men battling 


THE WONDER OF BAPAUME 


319 

fiercely with the bayonet, and by the slouch hats they 
knew them for men from ‘ down under/ No one 
could recognize a face through the haze ; the two 
fighters were like shadow pictures thrown upon a screen. 

McGlusky spoke tersely and to the point : 

‘ Boys, th’ day o’ vengeance ha’ come ; Murrim- 
bidgee’s got Smooth Jimmy.’ 

They all gazed entranced by the strange drama ; 
fighting was nothing to them, but this duel to the 
death after the long hunt and the wrong done held 
them riveted where they stood. 

‘ Och, sorr, what a film ut’d make f’r th’ pictures.’ 

‘ Ye mercenary wee de’il, haud y’r gab, ye’ve no 
poetry in ye.’ 

‘ It looks more like a picture film than the real 
thing, Old Timer,’ said Snowy; then he added : ‘ I 
can’t tell one man from the other in this smoke, but 
it’s a fight to a finish/ 

The two figures were advancing, retreating, side- 
stepping, thrusting, parrying. Suddenly one dropped 
its rifle and clutched and clawed at a bayonet that had 
passed right through the body, then dropped back 
and lay still. 

‘ Th’ fecht’s ower — yin o’ them has made a kill/ 

‘ If it’s Murrimbidgee who’s killed I'm goin’ ter 
have a word with Smooth Jimmy later on, Old Timer/ 

‘ A’m no’ theenkin’ it’s Murrimbidgee, Snowy.’ 

' Begob, they’re both down, sorr ? ’ cried Ginger. 

An officer who had watched the strange duel rapped 
out an order : 

‘ Here, two or three of you, slip across and see what’s 
up over there, and bring those two maniacs in if they’re 
wounded/ 


320 


GINGER AND McGLUSKY 


McGlusky, Ginger and Snowy sprang out of the 
ranks on the run, and soon came to where the two 
men lay. Smooth Jimmy was lying on his back, a 
bayonet wound through his chest, and a glance told 
the three friends that his sands had run out. Mur- 
rimbidgee was resting on his side, and the film of the 
great shadow was deepening in his eyes. Snowy 
knelt and lifted the handsome head very tenderly. 

‘ I — got — him fair, Snowy.’ 

‘ Yes, we saw it lad.’ 

‘ He didn’t get me fair, he shot me — but — I’m — 
content — 1 got him.’ 

The gambler’s head fell back. 

‘ Gone west,’ said Snowy laconically, ‘ but we’ll 
carry him in.’ 

‘ Aye, will we, but yon can stay there.’ 

The padre came running up, but he was too late, 
and his grief was very real. 

‘ He died as he lived, padre, he was game.’ 

Reverently the padre felt in the pockets of the 
gambler for any letter or trinket, and his hand lit 
upon a small parcel. On the outside was roughly 
scrawled in pencil : * For Snowy — the only man I 
ever loved.’ With strangely tremulous fingers the 
great sharpshooter undid the package, and inside lay 
Murrimbidgee’s Victoria Cross, and the last act in a 
lifelong drama was over. 

Back to the lines they all went — all except Smooth 
Jimmy, and then with their full band ringing in proud 
triumph, the Anzacs strode through fire and smoke 
to the very limits of Bapaume. 

FINIS 

* 

Printed in Great Britain by Butler & Tanner Frome and London 







































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